


Laugh Like You Love Me

by the_reluctant_nerd1701



Category: DCU, Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Arkham Asylum, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 14:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8848774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_reluctant_nerd1701/pseuds/the_reluctant_nerd1701
Summary: Another Harleen Quinzel/ Joker Arkham origin story. As if he suddenly became aware of the fact that he was now being studied and he didn’t like it, his neck snapped up, his eyes immediately finding Harleen’s. Her eyes widened in response, but she did not look away, she was too intrigued- more like entranced really. He didn’t look angry necessarily, more amused, like he was trying to make her uncomfortable as he smirked, mouth closed, moving his head from side to side. From the little movement she saw on his lipstick free mouth, she realized two things at once- 1) He was growling. She couldn’t hear him but from his mouth and his body language she could tell he was growling at her. And 2) He wasn’t smiling...





	1. Chapter 1

Dr. Harleen Quinzel would have been excited had she been on her way to any other place for her first day of her new job. She wanted to be excited, sure, but that sort of emotion seemed out of place and even inappropriate given the sort of environment she would soon find herself in. Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane, she read the intricate black sign a few times to herself as she parked her car. A place filled the brim with all manner of psychotics, schizophrenics and criminally unsound seemed hardly the place for anyone to feel any sort of pleasant emotion. Admitting to herself that she felt excited, even overjoyed to be in that kind of place would be seem uncomfortable and awkward. Still, she could not ignore the warm bubbly sensation she had felt building inside her since the weekend before when she had received the call that she had made enough of an impression during her interview that the board has decided to allow her to work at the institution, three out of five days of the week to start out.

Eager, she decided after a few minutes of sitting in her car. She would allow herself to feel eager- it’s not a positive emotion or negative emotion, not really. It’s a neutral emotion, perfectly acceptable to feel in any and all kinds of environments. Yes, she was eager- eager to start her career and prove herself to the assortment of male professors who had judged her or told her that she was unfit for the psychiatric ward. She’d taken their disapproval and their critiques, flirting a little along the way to ensure they would still help her along the way despite their doubts they’d had about her. She wasn’t necessarily proud of her having used her looks the way she did, but because she was actually intelligent and capable of being a psychiatrist she allowed herself those little cheats now and again. And she hadn’t done anything like that to get her new position this time, so the harmless things she had done previously didn’t matter to her, not in the grand scheme of it all. She would work at Arkham for a few years, prove herself to the board by “fixing” a few of the garden variety crazies and eventually be given a few of Arhkam’s more extreme personalities- the high profile villains. She’d always been drawn to those kinds of people and the challenges they presented. If she could get ahold of one of those, she’d be able to write a sort of tell-all book, maybe even cure the poor psychotic bastard and all of her hard work- the late night study sessions, the low cut blouses and tight pencil skirts- would all be worth it.  
It will all be worth it, she repeated to herself as she stepped out of her car. She listened to the sound her red patent leather heels made as she stepped carefully on the sidewalk, their clicking and clacking becoming louder and more aggressive as the ground changed to the hard cold linoleum floors of the asylum lobby. Brushing the stray blonde hairs which had managed to escape her ponytail, she confidently walked to the reception desk. She introduced herself to the woman behind the desk, who in turn handed her a stack of papers- a rather alarming number of consent forms- and directed to upstairs with instructions to find a Dr. Leland.

Harleen had was sorting through the large bunch of papers as she walked up the stairs, speed reading the obnoxious number of pages. She was so caught up in the reading she completely missed the top step, tripping herself. She gasped, trying to catch herself but losing the papers in the process. They scattered themselves over the hallway and Harleen kept her eyes down muttered to herself as she got up, hoping that none of her new colleagues had seen her embarrassing display before looking up to see a woman in a lab coat with her hair cut in a severe bob smiling at her.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” she began as she scooped up a few of the papers and handed to them to Harleen. “It happens more than you think. We’re all so busy and distracted we forget our own feet sometimes.”

“Yeah, thanks” Harleen smiled back, accepting the papers with one hand and straightening out her skirt and red blouse with the other. “And I’m new so I’m not exactly sure where I’m going anyway. Say, do you happen to know a…“

“Joan Leland!” she answered back quickly, extending a hand. “We’re happy to have you Dr. Quinzel, really. Your reputation precedes you.”

“Oh?” she laughed nervously while shaking the woman’s hand, hoping her relationships with some of her male mentors hadn’t been talked about. “Good things I hope.”

“Oh, only good things! Your academic record, your resume- very impressive. No wonder they hired you so quickly out of school. You’ll do well here, I’m sure.”

“I hope to!” her excitement could not be contained now, though she still tried to hold back that accent she struggled with often when she was too happy.

“If you’ll follow me to your office we can sort through these papers, get you your lab coat and then I’ll give you’re a tour if that’s alright with you?” Joan began walking down the hallway, motioning for Harleen to follow.

“Sounds great.”

After what felt like hours, Harleen had finished the necessary forms and Joan had left her alone in her new office to get acquainted with everything while she went to fetch her id card and lab coat. Anxious for her tour, she paced around her office, opening desk drawers and adjusting window blinds while she waited. During her mindless wandering, Harleen caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror inside the closet. She reapplied her lipstick, taking in her appearance carefully as she did so. Her hair was still neat, her clothing relatively unwrinkled yet she still suddenly felt as though something were missing. Embarrassed even though she was alone, she reached into her purse and removed her glasses. She didn’t need them of course, at least not to read. They were sort of a security blanket for her, something to hide behind that made her feel more professional though she was sure they did little to make others take her seriously. Still, she allowed herself the silly little favor. She put them on, glancing herself over quickly in the mirror again before Joan walked in.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you wore glasses,” she said as she handed Harleen her lab coat.

“Umm…yea, I-I thought I had forgotten them…” she answered quickly as she slid her arms into the coat. It wasn’t a complete lie…she had forgotten them. She stared at herself in the mirror again, this time inspecting herself a little more than before.

“I like them,” Joan added. “Very authoritative,” she winked as though she understood their real purpose. Harleen held back a nervous giggle as she closed the closet. “Here’s your id card, you’ll need it to swipe in pretty much anywhere and everywhere,” she handed her a small plastic card with a picture of herself printed in black and white on one side.

“Great!” she tucked it away in her pocket.

“Well then, if you have everything and your office is to your liking, I can show you around.” She walked out of the office, and Harleen followed quickly behind her, that undeniable excitement coming out to play again.

As they toured the facility, Joan gave her some generic speech on Arkham’s goal in rehabilitating its patients, gaining an understanding of their mental condition while attempting the patients to gain some clarity themselves. The first floor was filled with the least threatening of the patients, she was told, and the bottom floor, the basement, was where the worst of the worst were kept.  
“You’re first patients will probably be on the first floor, but I suppose I should show you the others,” Joan conceded as she swiped her access card and opened a large door leading to a staircase. “Now I know I just gave you that whole rehabilitation is the goal speech but, that doesn’t apply to the type we hold down here.” She glanced at Harleen, trying to gauge her fear level. “These people are mostly beyond help, they rarely receive treatment- almost none are assigned therapist.” The pair of women walked down the cold grey hallway, more carefully than they had upstairs.  
Even without being told, one would be able to tell the type of patients downstairs were more dangerous than their upstairs counterparts. Normal jail bars of the cells upstairs were replaced with large, thick panels of (what Harleen assumed was) bulletproof glass. Being able to see inside the cells more clearly terrified Harleen more than she expected and cared to admit to herself, but she was equally exhilarated. Being so close to these kinds of personalities ignited something in her that she could not explain and while she tried to hide it from Joan she was sure the woman beside her could sense it, as Harleen couldn’t help the excited, wide eyed glances she shot in each of the cells while Joan shot her a few disapproving glances as the made their way down the hall.

“I’ve always had a fascination with extreme personalities,” Harleen spoke, unable to contain herself anymore. “The-the challenge they present, I mean,” she added quickly to save face.

“These are dangerous people, Dr. Quinzel.” She said sternly, troubled by Harleen’s barely hidden eagerness. She carefully emphasized Harleen’s title, as if to remind the young woman of her actual purpose her.

“No I know”, Harleen agreed, as they neared the end of the hallway. She noted the cell at the very end was the largest, but they were still too far away and the lighting was so dark that she couldn’t quite make out who it was containing. “But you have to admit, there is a certain…glamour….to these kinds of criminals, ya know?” Shit. Harleen mentally scolded herself, both for her inappropriate admission and for the slip of her accent.

“Now Dr. Quinzel,” Harleen heard Joan begin as they stopped in front of the very cell she had been so curious about just moments before. Joan turned to face Harleen, her back to the final cell as she opened her mouth to speak. Harleen wasn’t listening to her scolding, but she could tell she was being scolded by the tone she heard. She couldn’t even bother to pretend to listen, as she was suddenly distracted by the white, neon green haired man in the cell behind them.

She was able to recognize him immediately, from the pictures in the newspapers and the breaking news bulletins. The clown prince of crime himself, the Joker. Harleen hadn’t realized he would be in Arkham- he seemed such an intelligent man. A terrible man, she reminded herself, who did terrible things. Still, she couldn’t believe that anyone had actually managed to capture him, or that he had actually put himself in a position to be captured in the first place.

He must have done something particularly bad this time, she thought to herself. His cell was dimly lit, darker than any of the others, she wondering if that was his choice. But she could still see him, just a little bit, from the fluorescent lights in the hall. She watched as he paced around his cell barefoot, not exactly peaceful but relatively unbothered. But he didn’t look as crazy as he had on the news…. she couldn’t figure out why though. Her eyes narrowed, staring more intently now.

As if he suddenly became aware of the fact that he was now being studied and he didn’t like it, his neck snapped up, his eyes immediately finding Harleen’s. Her eyes widened in response, but she did not look away, she was too intrigued- more like entranced really. He didn’t look angry necessarily, more amused, like he was trying to make her uncomfortable as he smirked, mouth closed, moving his head from side to side. From the little movement she saw on his lipstick free mouth, she realized two things at once- 1) He was growling. She couldn’t hear him but from his mouth and his body language she could tell he was growling at her. And 2) He wasn’t smiling. Smirking, maybe, but not the notorious Joker grin she had come to expect from him. It was odd, though she didn’t know him, to see him without a smile seemed eerily…sad. For some reason she felt sad…she felt that he was sad. For reasons beyond her grasp, Harleen Quinzel felt that the Joker was sad. And for even stranger reasons, she felt as though she wanted to make him smile. Without fully meaning to and without fully understanding her actions, she felt herself begin to smile, before Joan’s tone snapped her right out of whatever strange emotional state had come over her just now.

“Harleen!” she snapped at her. “Have you been listening to a thing I’ve said?”

“Of course, Dr. Leland,” Harleen lied almost automatically.

“For your sake I hope you have,” she cautioned. “I’m your supervisor for the time being, and I like you. I really want you to do well here- I want to see you succeed.” She softened a little bit, patting her on the shoulder. “So long as you keep your wits about you and try not to overburden yourself, you should be fine.” She began walking back toward the staircase they had entered from, but Harleen stayed just a few seconds behind her. Though she had broken eye contact with the Joker to answer Joan, his eyes had not budged. Sure Joan could not see her to shame or disapprove of her, Harleen shot him the smallest smile before leaving herself. She didn’t know why she did it, why she had let herself smile at him. She even felt sorry for it, awkwardly ashamed of the action and the strange feelings she had experienced. However she brushed it off, deciding that from now on she would be the pinnacle of professionalism, handling any patients Joan would throw out her, not rushing her own selfish agenda. Perhaps Joan was right anyway, she thought as she heading back to her office to fill out more paper work. She fished her key out of her lab coat pocket, reaching for the light switch as she entered. She wasn’t ready for the patients downstairs anyways, she thought to herself; she should be a little more careful. And she would be starting tomorrow.

Or perhaps it was too late to try and be careful, Harleen realized as she quickly noticed the small vase on the top of her desk. It may very well be a welcome gift, she thought as she carefully closed the door behind her and made her way over to the desk. But she felt it wasn’t, and as she picked up the card, her stomach filled with butterflies as her suspicions proved correct. There were few words written on the card but still she read them over and over again, trying to make sense of them.  
Come and see me sometime- J


	2. Chapter 2

_Come and see me sometime- J_

Those five simple, messily written words invaded every thought she had for the rest of the day, the small card weighing heavily in her pocket. Her whole body felt as though it was vibrating, she was suddenly alert-awake. It was as if someone had flipped a little light switch she hadn’t been aware she had. Was she afraid? No, she analyzed. The sensation itself was not unpleasant, there was no pit in her stomach, no feeling of impending doom. She did not fear him, she realized. For some reason, despite all logic and knowing the things she knew about this strange clown man, Harleen Quinzel did not fear him. He had proved that he could escape his cell, wander about the halls and find her whenever he wanted and return back to his cell without so much as triggering the suspicions of any of the staff…but she did not fear him.

She had every reason to, that much was clear to her. And she supposed she still could be afraid, but of a different version of him. The Joker she and everyone in Gotham had grown too familiar with, the Joker who spent his nights terrorizing the city- she was still afraid of that Joker. But that was not the man she had seen in the cell earlier that day.

No, that man had been different. Downstairs he had seemed muted- a shadow of the man she had seen in the papers. She was sure it was his smile- his signature, his sign. It deeply troubled her, seeing him that way. He was a stranger but she felt as though he were the kind of person who should never be without a smile on his face. Sure, his smile was usually caused by something terrible but she overlooked that. As she left her office she found herself increasing troubled by the whole interaction. She felt quite bad for this poor man, she decided. She truly sympathized with him, with how he must have felt. Surely something horrible must have happened to him for that smile of his to be erased like that; and now she was curious. Curious, and also compelled in some strange way, to see the man again.

But that wasn’t why she was heading down there to see him again, of course. That would be crazy.

No, she wasn’t going down to see him again, to investigate the cause of his sudden mood shift. No, this was to be a strictly professional interaction. His card and gift had given her a reason to seek him out, she reasoned, an opportunity to play both the professional strict doctor warning a patient of his conduct and the kind trust worthy doctor who keep her mouth shut in order to spare him of any repercussions he may face. Yes, she thought as she swiped her card and opened the heavy metal door. She’s doing her job, nothing more.

She walked down the hall, keeping her eyes on the cell of interest. The sound of her heels on the hard floor drew the attention of a few of the caged occupants but she paid them no mind. She stopped in front his cell, panicking for a second when she couldn’t see him. His cell was still particularly dark, and it took a few moments to make out his figure, sitting with his back to the wall right up against the corner of the glass. By the she had found him, his eyes were already looking back up at her own with the same intensity which had drawn her so strongly just a few hours ago. Suddenly nervous, she adjusted her glasses, trying her best to unaffected and in control. Seeming to sense her discomfort her smirked, mouth closed, and turned his head away from her before breaking the silence.

“Do you like them?” he said referring to the vase of flowers he had left. Harleen gasped quietly to herself at the sound of his voice. It was- very pleasant sounding, she was surprised to realize. A little raspy maybe, but she supposed that was from his being tired. And he did look tired, she noted as he turned his head slightly to face her. A little happier, lighter than last time, but still tired. Exhausted actually, he looked like hell. It made her sad all over again, it almost broke her heart. He just looked like a man here, a sad man who had once been happy…

Shit. Professional. I am professional, she snapped herself back to reality.

“I think the guards would be interested to know that you’ve been out of your cell,” I avoided his question, doing my best to sound neutral but assertive. Never mind the fact that inside she her heart was breaking at how pathetic he looked alone and pale and bruised and sleepy in his cell.

“If you were going to tell you have done it already,” he countered, this time smiling but still with his mouth closed. What’s in there, she thought as she shifted her glance to his smile again.

“What happened to ya mouth?” she blurted out accidentally, her accent slipping out again with the rude question. His head snapped to look directly at her this time and she blushed, embarrassed but more nervous of his reaction.

“What’s your name?” he replied, trying to pretend he hadn’t heard the question, like it never happened. But in his eyes should tell that the question had upset it- almost hurt him. She pressed her lips together quickly to keep from frowning but she wanted to frown badly, she was so inexplicably sad for him.

“Harleen Quinzel.” She answered, feeling she owed him that at least after hurting his feeling with her rudeness.

“HA!” He threw his head back in the first fit of sincere laughter she had heard from him, accidentally giving her a flash of his metal mouth in the process. They hadn’t always been like that, she was sure. No, he had had a brilliantly white smile of porcelain like teeth at one point she noticed. As she wondered what had happened to them, he hoisted himself to a standing position. As he did so the bottom of his uniform top rose up just a little, enough for her to a masculine v that made her blush all over again as well as a mess of bruises, particularly dark on his stark white body. Someone had hit him, and she was surprised at herself for both being surprised that someone would have hit him considering his relationship with the Batman and at how much it hurt her to think of someone hitting him. “Ya know if you rework your name a bit you get Harley Quinn-“

“Like the clown character, Harlequin.” She finished for him with a nod. She had heard it before of course but the coincidence, almost irony of her name given the man she found herself speaking to now had almost been lost on her until this moment. It made her very uncomfortable suddenly, and the reality of what she was doing made her skin crawl. It wasn’t so much the professional repercussions of her actions which suddenly made her uneasy as much as it was the emotions that had been stirred up inside her. “I get that a lot. I’m sorry I should….” She trailed off, backing up slowly from the cell before turning on her heels to leave. She even made it a few steps down without turning back to look at him and she felt quite proud of herself, feeling as though she was regaining both her control and composure. Until she heard his voice again.

“It’s a name that makes me smile.” She stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening at his words. Against her better judgement she allowed herself to look back at him. He had pressed his body into the corner of the cell closest to her, hands pressing themselves on the glass as he tried to get a better look at her while she walked away. His face had broken out into that oh so famous Joker grin she had expected to see- that she had been waiting to see the whole day- and she tried not to stare at the metal teeth she was beginning to wonder if he was sensitive about. Slowly she allowed her eyes to meet his again. “It makes me feel like there’s someone here who gets me…” he continued, once he had seen that he had gotten her attention. “Someone I can really talk to…tell my secrets to.”

Their eyes met, just for an instant before Harleen managed to force herself back down the hallway. But in that moment she felt a surge of energy pass through her body, that abrupt awareness that she had felt before returning. Crazy as it sounded, she rather enjoyed the sensation the more she thought about it. It felt right, normal- like that was the way she was always meant to feel. The connection she felt was strong, so strong in fact she was sure he must have felt it to, but she broke the gaze and hurried out of the hallway before her suspicions could be confirmed, afraid of what implications such a connection may have.

She left the asylum quickly, getting into her car as fast as she could without risking a slip of her heels and drove herself home. Collapsing on her bed, suddenly exhausted from her unexpectedly eventful work day, she began sorting through her thoughts and emotions, paying particular attention to the last hour or so. Was she scared? Still no. Unnerved? Yes. What was unnerving her, she wondered silently. Was it the fact that she had shared an arguably intimate moment with a psychotic homicidal clown who was more than capable of leaving his current cage and finding her anytime he wanted? No, though for any reasonable person it would be. Then what was it? She wasn’t afraid of him, how could she be, seeing him there with his teeth all gone, bruised and weak in a cold dark cell all by himself? No she wasn’t afraid of him. And she felt bad for him still, in fact her heart grew another crack each time she pictured him there, but that wasn’t the cause of the tingling sensation she had felt in her stomach, making her uneasy.

No, realized. It wasn’t the clown being able to escape or the intense moment they had shared now twice in one day. It wasn’t the man, she admitted. No, he wasn’t the problem at all.

What unnerved her so, made her uneasy, was her own reaction to it all. Dr. Harleen Quinzel despite all her intelligence and logic, all her book sense and street smarts- despite being a perfectly reasonable human being- felt no fear, no worry in regards to Arkham Asylum’s arguably most infamous patient. And she felt wrong about it- guilty about the rush she felt, how excited and almost happy she felt in his presence, even though she knew exactly who and what he was. She liked him, she allowed herself to accept. She liked the Joker and she shouldn’t and it made her feel sick deep down. Surely something must be wrong with her, she thought, surely she’s as sick as he is- probably more so! That she can look at a man who has murdered and tortured and terrorized every inch of the city she called home and feel sympathy and warmth for him.

Perhaps Joan had been right, she should be careful. He was dangerous- he was the most dangerous and she knew that and yet she had tried to smile at him, let her curiosity gotten the better of her and gone down to him a second time even after he proved how dangerous he could be. No, she wasn’t ready and she may never be ready, not to deal with people like him. Tell-all book be damned; it wouldn’t be worth it. No, she decided that night. She would stay away from the Joker, from all of the extreme personality types he called neighbors, and be normal. She would be a normal psychiatrist with normal patients and live a normal life and she would be satisfied with that. She would have to be.

She slid herself into some sweatpants, poured herself a glass of wine and drank it quickly, thankful she only worked every other day. A day off would help her clear her head, she told herself adjust herself to her new life. But the truth was she didn’t trust herself yet to go back there and not see him.

* * *

 

Harleen had allowed herself the rare luxury of sleeping in. She deserved it, she decided, after years of hard work and the…let’s say strange…day she had previously. And it was rather nice not having anything to do- no patients had been assigned to her yet so she had no notes to go through, no treatments to write. This was bound to be her first truly free day for a while, and she was determined to enjoy it.

So relaxed was she as lazed around in bed she almost didn’t hear her cell phone ring. The sound startled her; she didn’t have any friends, she didn’t have a family (at least any she cared to talk to or about). She glanced at the screen nervously, wondering who on earth would be calling her. She half expected it be- well, no never mind, she thought to herself, quickly pushing the thought out of her mind. She wasn’t going to think about him, not for the whole day at least; it would be best for her in the long run.

“Shit,” she muttered to herself in a panic when she finally realized who it was. It was Arkham, she recognized the number- but not the extension. She hoped it was just Joan calling to check in on her or ask her a question about the forms she had filled out but she had saved Joan’s number and she knew it would have just said her name had it been her office. Perhaps she’s in someone else’s office, she hoped. Because if it wasn’t Joan it was one of her higher ups, and she knew that if it was once of her higher ups there was a good chance it was about that person who she wouldn’t let herself think of just yet. “Hello, Dr. Quinzel speaking?” she said more confidently than she felt.

“Hello Dr. Quinzel,” a man’s voice answered. Harleen’s stomach dropped even lower as she realized who it must be. She’d never met him, but she knew him by reputation and something deep inside told her that he rarely called with good news. “This is Jeremiah Arkham, I’m calling in regards to the Joker.”


	3. Chapter 3

“The Joker?” Harleen repeated softly into her cell phone. Shit, this was it. One day at Arkham Asylum and that was probably all she was going to get- this was the end; no patients, no book, nothing to show for all her hard work. Her dreams were sure to destroyed by a strange lapse in judgement, and unexpected connection to a psychotic clown. “What about him?” she continued, a little more confidently. Perhaps if she played dumb she could save her ass. I didn’t really do anything wrong, she reminded herself. Despite the crippling swirl of guilt and confusion she was wrestling with, she had not actually done anything wrong- she was just afraid that she might want to.

“Yes,” he answered. “Have you had any contact with the subject since your employment began?” She listened, analyzing into his face. He didn’t seem angry; there was no sign of sternness in his voice, in fact he sounded more confused or curious than anything.

“Briefly,” she answered too quickly. “I mean I saw him during my tour with Dr. Leland.” Surely that was the interaction he was speaking about, she convinced herself. He had no way of knowing about her little after hours’ conversation…right? Who would’ve known besides herself and the green haired man, and more importantly who believe him had he told anyone? Harleen’s head was spin, her thoughts running in circles around each other in the few moments it took Dr. Arkham to respond.

“Yes I know Doctor, but after that?” he inquired further and Harleen knew she’d have to come clean. He knows, she scolded herself; he knows you went to see him and that you’re a dumb unprofessional little idiot and you’re screwed.

“Yes sir,” she admitted. “I-I did have contact with the patient, shortly before I left for the day. I’m sorry sir, I-“

“I know it’s your day off and you’re not scheduled to come in today, but given the circumstances I think it might be more appropriate to speak further on the matter in person.”

“Of course sir, I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

Dr. Arkham thanked her and told her to take her time, but of course Harleen didn’t take that to heart. His reference to “given circumstances” made her stomach twist into knots, her whole body shaking in paranoid confusion. How much trouble could she have caused in that five minutes she had spent down there? She had been professional, almost kind. They hadn’t even spoken of anything besides- well she couldn’t even remember what they had talked about. As she shoved herself into some pants and a blouse, she thought hard to remember what could have gotten her into trouble. The spoke about her name…he said he had secrets…she confronted him about the vase of flowers and his card and-

Well fuck.

As ran from her apartment to her car, messily throwing her lab coat over her shoulders, it had hit her. Her receiving a gift from the Joker, her being aware of his leaving his cell and not reporting it to her supervisors or the guards- that must be what this was about. She broke every traffic law Gotham had to over in her short ten-minute drive, sick and embarrassed over the whole thing. He must have gotten out, escaped- he must have hurt someone or done something terrible and Harleen that he’d had the ability to leave whenever he wanted and she hadn’t told anyone. She could have prevented some kind of clown related attack, and like an idiot she had kept her mouth shut. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

All she could think about as she pulled up to the prison was the pain she was sure she had inadvertently caused, the deaths she was indirectly responsible for which is why in her self-induced panic, she almost even noticed how quiet Arkham was. There were no police, no rushing nurses or orderlies. In fact, the whole place and everyone in it was calm- very quiet. So quiet in fact, someone may not immediately realize it’s a prison for the criminally insane. Still nervous despite the obvious lack of commotion, she carefully approached the reception desk half expecting someone to fire her right on the spot. But before she had the chance to ask anyone where Dr. Arkham’s office was, Joan tapped roughly on the shoulder.

“Dr. Quinzel,” Harleen, caught off guard, spun around quickly. Upon making eye contact with her supervisor, her guilt and panic simultaneously eased and increased. On one hand, nothing too bad must have happened as Dr. Leland, like the rest of the Asylum, did not seem worried or afraid or even stressed for that matter. So, that was a little bit of a relief. However, she did not look pleased- she looked annoyed, almost angry. Confused by expression, Harleen took a minute to respond.

“Hi, Dr. Leland,” she managed to answer. Dr. Leland only rolled her eyes in response. Suddenly she felt as though she were back in undergrad, inadequate and inexperienced. “Um-I-I have to see”

“Arkham. I know.” She rolled her eyes again before walking up the stairs. Though she didn’t say anything, Harleen knew she had meant for her to follow so she quickly rushed after her, having to almost jog to keep up with Dr. Leland’s irritated steps. The walk to Arkham’s office must have only taken a minute or two but unsurprisingly it felt like an eternity. She wanted to speak to her, say anything, either to break the uncomfortable silence or get a better idea of the kind of trouble she was in. But she kept quiet, not wanting to anger the woman further.

Once they reached their destination, Dr. Leland knocked unceremoniously on the door, not waiting for an answer before she thrusted it open. Her hands touched Harleen on the small of her back, not roughly but harder than was comfortable and pushed her inside, slamming the door behind her. Harleen glanced nervously up at the man who had not looked up from his computer yet. Unsure of what to do to herself, she cast her eyes downward again and weaved her fingers together behind her, listening as the click of Dr. Leland’s heels in the hallway faded away. After a few more moments of excruciating silence, the grey haired and spectacled man glanced up.

“Dr. Quinzel,” he said as his face scrunched up in confusion. “Why don’t you sit down?” he gestured towards one of two armchairs in by his large wooden desk.

“Thank you sir,” she spoke barely above a whisper as she sat down. Arkham leaned back in his chair, one finger on his chin, and took a deep breath before he addressed her again.

“Rough night?” he said, smiling at her. She was immediately confused.

“Sir?” Did he know something she didn’t or…?

“Are you hungover I mean? I don’t mean to be inappropriate, it’s just you look so uncomfortable,” he answered, chuckling a bit now. “You can be honest with me, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Umm…no sir, I’m just-I suppose I’m a little nervous.” She answered slowly, “I got your call and I thought that perhaps there was some trouble- “

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Doctor! You’re in no trouble, none at all! I hope I didn’t worry you too bad,” his expression softened. “You poor thin, probably waiting to be fired or something- no dear, you are not in trouble. Quite the contrary actually.”

“Sir?” she replied, unable to hide her confusion.

“I’m sorry I won’t keep you in suspense any more. The reason I called you in today was because the Joker, for the first time since his multiple sentences here, has agreed accept therapy. And,” he paused, taking a moment to brace for her reaction, “He has requested _you_ as his therapist.”

Harleen didn’t respond right away. She let his statement hang in the air, trying to decipher exactly what she was feeling. She felt two distinct reactions bubbling to the surface, but took her time dissecting them to determine which was most appropriate. On one hand, she was…pleased. This is, of course, exactly what she had wanted in the first place- what she had set out to do from the very beginning: get a high profile patient for her coveted tell-all book; she could almost hear the applause of talk show audiences as she strutted across the stage, giving haunting details of her time with her manic medical miracle she had managed to reform. On the other hand, perhaps the more logical one, she felt concerned. Just last night she here mind had been in a frenzy just from a measly few minutes with the man; she was dumb enough, she thought bitterly to herself, to fall victim to these weak, school girl like emotions she had yet to completely understand in herself, but she was smart enough to recognize the possible danger in them. Not quite a crush, she quickly clarified to herself, but a certain sensitivity to him; a sensitivity she wasn’t quite sure she trusted herself enough to manage.

“I’m sorry sir,” she said when she finally decided to answer. “I’m not sure I know how to respond. I’m not refusing of course, I just- “

“Dr. Quinzel if you didn’t have any reservations on the matter I’d think you were the crazy one,” he countered. “Of course I don’t want to make you take on anything you feel you aren’t ready for. However, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping you’d accept. You see, he’s been in and out of her more times than I can count. And each time, all the staff can hope to do is try and maximize the time in between his inevitable escapes, hope that when he escapes he does it relatively damage free and hope that the Batman can get him back before he kills too many innocent people. We normally don’t even offer him the option of therapy, though legally speaking we’re required to. The only reason we bothered this around is because of the circumstances which led to his capture. I’m sure you’ve noticed his teeth-or rather lack thereof,”

“I have,” her ears perked up suddenly at the mention of his smile, eager for the story behind them.

“We aren’t able to get the full story- from either party involved. Maybe you’ll be able to, should you decide to take him on as a patient. It may be helpful, for our own knowledge and understanding of the criminal mind.” She noticed how he didn’t mention how the potential therapy may help the Joker himself in anyway and the omission discouraged her. Surely Dr. Arkham believed the Joker was beyond psychological help- he didn’t actually expect Harleen to get anywhere with the man, of that she was sure. All he was hoping to achieve here was maybe a rounding out of the Joker’s thin file- _maybe_ a name or some vague idea of a previous identity- and a legal box to check of the asylum’s list of obligations. If he asked for therapy, they were required to provide that opportunity to him.

“If it will help, that is to say if you believe it will do anyone any good, I suppose there is no harm in trying.” She finally agreed. Upon letting herself accept the offer, she was able to realize just how excited she was at the prospect of having the Joker as her first ever patient. Sure she was still nervous, not necessarily about what he may do to her but of what her fascination with him might entail. “If I may ask sir, did he how exactly did he come to request me?”

“Oh you seem to have made quite the impression on him, shown him some kindness. He wouldn’t say exactly why, only that he felt you were someone he could trust. Do you mind me asking, what exactly did you happen to say to him, if anything?”

“Oh um, well I was taking one last tour of the asylum,” she carefully crafted her lie, “Just to make sure I knew where everything was and I just- spoke to him I suppose. Honestly, I think he just liked my name.” The context of their interaction didn’t seem to be important she thought.

“Well, in any case I suppose it’s not a bad thing, that he’s willing to speak to anyone. Whatever makes him do so is…inconsequential at the time. There are of course some procedural things we must go over- rules and the sort which must be followed. But again, I want to stress I don’t want to force you into anything you are not prepared for. So I’ll ask again- are you sure you are up to the challenge?”

Harleen took a deep breath, briefly considering the pros and cons, the obvious dangers and the possible rewards the opportunity faced. And even though she was sure that there were bound to be more problems and complications than perhaps it was worth in the long run, and despite the fact that some deep part of her knew it was far from a good idea, she looked up at Dr. Arkham, who despite his saying otherwise, clearly wanted her to do this, and nodded.

“Yes sir, I believe I am.”

For the rest of the day, Harleen was given a new series of forms to sign, a list of rules for dealing with hostile patients, even though she was told that to begin with he would be kept in his cell during their sessions with her outside. She met his orderlies, who all seemed like sweet men, and all of whom promised to keep her safe should anything get out of hand in the future. She was given a panic button which was always to be in her coat pocket, and used at her discretion if he made any type of threat toward her. It all seemed terribly dramatic, she thought, compared to what she had seen of him last. Surely the frail little man could not be _that_ dangerous. And yet, she had received files filled with his crimes and criminal charges, photographs of his unlucky victims and strongly detailed first person accounts of his cruelty. She tried to remind herself to not forget who (or what he was). By the time she had sorted through his criminal file in her office, the asylum was almost empty, save for the patients and guards unlucky enough to be on the night shift. Harleen yawned and, aware of the time and the day she had in store for her tomorrow, she grabbed his personal file, slipped it into her bag and decided she would just read it at home.

Upon arriving at her apartment and settling down for the night, she reached for the file, confused at the lightness of it compared to the thick stack of papers and crime scene photos which had made up his criminal folder. Curious now, she opened it carefully, mentally preparing herself to read a few paragraphs on an abusive childhood or at least delinquent teenage years. But what she found inside was just confusing, and maybe even more tragic that what she had expected to read.

The pages were absolutely bare. No name, no birthdate. Not a trace of who he had been before.

Troubled and oddly saddened, she decided that would be where she would (attempt) to begin their therapy.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Harleen woke up feeling about as ready as she or anyone else could have expected her to. She was nervous for sure, but the strange excitement she had felt and tried to keep in check her just earlier that week before her first day at Arkham was there but more on the back burner than it had been before. She would have been more excited, she thought to herself, having a high profile patient like him, so early in her career. It was literally day three of her being an actual psychiatrist and she was already on her way to reach her end goal, her dream of all dreams. And she felt that excitement, stowed away some dark corner of her mind, she knew it was there. But she couldn’t fully allow that excitement be front and center, at least not until she had a better understanding of her situation, until she knew what to expect. It still made her uncomfortable, how strange she felt in his presence, how much he was able to affect her. It made her nervous, not just in a professional or career oriented “oh I hope I can help him, I hope I do a good job” kind of way, but in a very selfish and personal “what will this do to me” kind of way. She wanted to believe that she would be able to work through it, that she would rise to the occasion and the therapy will go swimmingly. But to be honest she wasn’t concerned as much with the therapy or the book or the fame she had once been so consumed by- all she wanted to do was get through this day with as little trouble as possible

Still wanting to brush up on his files and give herself ample time to prepare and at least have some semblance of a therapeutic plan for the eccentric clown man, she left for Arkham an extra half hour than she would have normally, this time making sure to tuck her frivolous frames safely in her lab coat pocket. Scolding herself for her needing the silly token of security, but ultimately allowing herself the small comfort on this of all days. It may be easier, she tried to tell herself, to look at him and have him look at her if she had something on her face; as if those prescription-less glorified pieces of glass would provide any kind of protection.

When she arrived at the asylum, she quickly rushed inside, a strange eagerness welling up inside her as she stepped inside. She said a polite hello to anyone who she saw on her way to the office. Word must have gotten around quickly, what she was doing today, as the responses she got varied between bitter and angry, frightened and worried and her personal favorite, amused and condescending; those kind of wide eyed smirking smiles that seemed to say “good luck kid, you’re gonna need it”.

Once safely inside her office, she placed her glassed on her face and went to work reviewing his files, taking notes on her clipboard, attempting some sort of guideline for where she wanted their introductory session to go. For another patient it would seem a relatively simple and generic session- starting at the beginning; together they would dissect childhood memories and talk about who they had been before their whole life had gone looney tunes and then the next time they say each other they would come up with strategies to face those kinds of emotions; she would link his behaviors to past trauma, and then as with most of Arkham’s more villainous clientele, he would not change his behaviors but at least the prison could say that they tried.

But with the Joker it was going to be different, she knew it would have to be. She picked up his thin personal file, and a strange aching pulled slightly at her heart. Her eyes searched the blank page, as if she had expected the information which had been hauntingly absent the night before to have miraculously been filled in to give her at least some kind of guidance- anything to talk about, to start with. She supposed she was just going to have to ask him, but you didn’t need to be a genius to gather that he probably wouldn’t be the most cooperative human. She’d been warned by Dr. Arkham that he would not cooperate, that he’d give some trouble. But she half hoped that him requesting her would mean he would give her something- anything, if for no other reason than to fill the awkward silence which would no doubt consume them.

After some vague notes and highlights, Harleen came to terms with the fact that there was really very little she could do and, after shoving the mess of unhelpful papers onto her clipboard, checked the time. It was 9:00am, their session was scheduled for 10:00am. She sighed heavily and slumped in her desk chair, wishing it could just be happening already; she wanted it over, just so she could say she did it and know what to expect, should there be a next time. Or least she wanted something to do, to distract her for the next hour, otherwise she was sure she would drive herself mad. She was grateful then, when there was a sudden knock on her door.

“Come on in!” she said excitedly, embarrassed by the sudden reemergence of her little girl like tone.

“Dr. Quinzel, I hope you’re not too busy,” Dr. Arkham said as he peered cautiously inside.

“Oh, not at all. Um, that’s to say I’ve sort of already prepped-“she waved him inside, straightening up in her seat.

“Well, probably as much as you can with a patient like him I guess,” he nodded as he stepped inside and closed the door softly behind him. “I just wanted to check on you, remind you of a few things.”

“Sure, I welcome the advice.”

“I’m not sure I have any to give I’m afraid,” he gave her an apologetic look as he sat down opposite her. “Just a few guidelines, security measures we’ve taken to begin with. I’m sure you’ve seen in his file we don’t know anything about his previous…life. You’re more than welcome to try and get something out him on that, but it’s far from expected. It’d be appreciated, but it’s not expected.”

“Yes, I suppose I’ll try but I’m not holding out much hope to be honest,” she laughed nervously.

“We’re mostly concerned about his last encounter with the Batman. That’s the whole reason the board has insisted on his being given the option of therapy. But whatever he does say about it, whatever he claims the Batman has done to him, please, take it with a grain of salt. And that goes with everything he says, his grip on reality is questionable, that much is apparent. So whatever he says-“

“Is at least partially a lie?” she asked, a little offended, both on behalf of her patient and herself. It must be a terrible thing for him, to have everyone assume he’s lying. What if he told her something truthful today and she or no one else would listen? And how insulting for Dr. Arkham to assume she would not be able to weed out the bullshit, even if he didn’t mean it that way.

“To be perfectly blunt, well yes. Which leads me to the next issue, security. As I stated, we all think it best that he be treated in his cell, with you outside. The rest of the patients down there will be out for leisure time, ergo the strict ten to eleven thirty session time.”

“He doesn’t get leisure time?” She questioned.

“Does he look like he plays well with others?” he answered rhetorically. But Harleen considered the question none the less, thinking back again to the first time she had seen him. Despite her attempts to force herself to remember that he is dangerous, despite the fact that she was aware that he is a psychotic criminal, when she pictured him down there, pale faced and tired and- just so alone- she just could make it make sense in her mind.

“I suppose not.” she glanced at the clock, surprised at how much time she had wasted with him. It was already fifteen minutes to her session. “I suppose I should get down there,” she gathered her things, walking swiftly past him as she straightened out her coat.

“Harleen,” he softly touched her arm, his use of her first name and his sudden physical touch halting her completely. “I know that we’re supposed to be medical professionals here and we’re talking about him as if he’s just any other patient to be cured, to be helped. But please, don’t think that for a minute. The board insists on this charade for either moral or legal obligations, I’m not sure which, but he is a monster. Beyond help, he’s too far gone. Just get whatever information you can, whenever you can and don’t get too involved. Don’t treat him like any other patient, because he isn’t.”

Harleen felt a strange defensiveness rise up in her. This poor man, she thought, has so many people turned against him to begin with. She didn’t want to be another one, and she immediately felt guilty for trying so hard to think of him as this big bad man. He may have been just that, but he was still a person deep down, she had seen that much. And to have her supervisor speak of him that hurt and infuriated her to no end.

“Well, thank ya for the reality check,” she managed to control herself enough to answer respectfully but not enough to keep that accent from coming out yet again. Dr. Arkham removed his hand and she left without another word, and he let her, probably sensing her tenseness. She made her way down to his cell, already frustrated with herself at her emotional response to just the thought of him. Just hearing someone be so disrespectful and unsympathetic towards the poor psychotic stranger had her reeling, almost worse than the first day. This was not what she needed, not right now, when she was about to be face to face with him. She walked a little slower than normal, hoping to give herself an extra few seconds to gather herself, to not be as afraid and confused by herself as she was. But no matter how slow she thought she was going, she still ended up in the metal hallway much sooner than she would have liked. She tried to distract herself from her present situation, glancing in the empty cells as she passed them.

She became hyper aware of the sound her heels made, their soft clicks sounding more like loud gunshots or harsh slaps as she walked toward her appointment. She had half a mind to take them off and walk barefoot, but she thought she’d look more like a walk of shame victim than a doctor and that just wouldn’t do. The lights were on, at least brighter than before, and she wondered if that was for her benefit or his. She could see him, more clearly than she was able to before; but whether or not that was for the better she was still unsure. He was standing up back was to her, so he didn’t see her approach (though she was sure he had heard her). She studied him a little, deciding what to say- still wondering how to start this little interaction- and in a sudden burst of panic, she realized she had no clue what to call him. Awkwardly she sat herself at the makeshift chair and table meant to serve as her desk until they were moved to session room (if they ever got that far).

Still unsure of what to call him but unable to handle the silence anymore, Harleen opened her mouth to speak.

“Um, excuse me? It’s Dr. Quinzel, I’m here for your session,” she tried her best to sound authoritative and to be honest, didn’t think she was doing a terribly bad job. She was managing to keep her voice calm and free of cracks. Maybe this would be ok. He turned around to face her, a full on smile his face, giving her the first full view of his new metal teeth. The teeth made her sad to look at and she couldn’t tell what the smile meant, but she decided that he looked pleased. It made her a little happy, to see him look at least a little happier than the first time she’d seen him.

“Dr. Quinzel,” he carefully pronounced her name, playing with its sound. “How lucky am I to have you here.” He sat himself down in the very front of his cell, as if determined to get as close to her as the thick glass would allow, and placed his hands politely on his lap. With his legs crossed and big blue eyes looking up at her so content, he almost looked innocent, like a child waiting their teacher to start to read a story or something. She felt that strange ache on her heart again.

“Well you did request to see me, didn’t you?” she asked, suddenly nervous about the answer. “Surely you can’t be surprised to see me.”

“Oh but I am, Doctor. I’m very surprised, surprised they bothered to listen. I’m so glad they did.” He kept his gaze on her, intense and steady.

“Do you feel like you’re ignored in here, Mister….” She trailed off, still not sure what to call him. “I’m sorry I’m not sure how to address you. What are you comfortable with me calling you?” she probed.

“Please, call me whatever you like, pumpkin.” Her heart leapt at his use of an affectionate nickname. She almost enjoyed hearing it, but she knew it was best to stop it if she could.

“Dr. Quinzel is fine, thank you, Mr. Joker,” she called him, improvising quickly. She searched his face for some kind of sign that he was comfortable with the title, and found herself shamefully please when he cracked a big grin at her.

“Oh I like that, Doctor,” he said, careful to stress the fourth word.

“Well do you?” she asked again. “Feel ignored or mistreated in here?” she looked him over once and again noticed how frail and tired he appeared, despite his wide smile.

“Well aren’t you the sweetest. Worried about little old me,” his moved his arms so that his elbows rested on his knees and his hands cupped his face gently. “That’s a first for me, it’s kind of nice. But to answer the question, I don’t feel ignored. Between all the attention I get from the guards and the orderlies how could I? But I’m still surprised the men in white coats upstairs cared enough to give me someone like you.”

“Well, you did request me,” I began, deciding we’d go back to how he was being treated in the asylum another day. “I guess they thought you’d be willing to cooperate with me.” Her hands felt nervous all of the sudden so she pretended to take notes to give them something to do. “Why did you request me?” she asked the selfish question, but immediately regretted it as soon as it left her lips.

“I like you. I told you that before. I thought you’d listen, that I’d enjoy talking to you. I think I was right. And with your name I mean, it’s just too perfect. It’s like we’re meant to be.” She didn’t know how to respond, so she didn’t. It made her feel happy though, almost justified, that he had felt whatever strange connection she was still working hard to ignore between the two of them. “Do your friends call you Harley?” he asked when she still didn’t speak.

“Excuse me?” she asked.

“Harleen…Harley. Is that what your friends call you?”

“Um, I guess they would. If I had them…” she shocked herself with her honesty. It was true, she really didn’t have friends, but there was no reason for him to know that, even though she did feel oddly at ease with him. “But we are here to discuss you, Mr. Joker. Is there anything in particular you wanted to talk about with me?”. She secret wished he would just bring up either Batman or his teeth on his own, because she would have felt rude bringing it up herself. The last thing she wanted to do was make him uncomfortable.

“I’ll be your friend.” His smile faded and was replaced with an intense expression; it was…sincere, Harleen realized. It couldn’t have been, or more accurately it shouldn’t have been, given what she knew about him. But she could almost swear, in that moment he looked very sincere, like he meant it; like he wanted it, like he wanted her.

“You being my patient is just fine,” she forced herself answer in a professional manner, even though all she wanted to do was smile and tell him thank you. She wondered if he would like it, her smile. She was pretty sure he would. His face fell a little and the light which had been in his eyes up until this moment had left; he looked angry, or least very unhappy; like she’d told him there wouldn’t be any recess today. She immediately felt guilty. “But is there anything you’d like to talk about? Anything? At all?”

“Why, is there something you’d like to know?” he still didn’t smile, in fact he looked almost annoyed now. But, he was still talking and that was farther than anyone else had ever gotten, so she continued.

“Actually yes,” she admitted, surprising herself with her boldness. “What happened? To your…” as quickly as she had gotten confident, she had lost her nerve. It was strangely intimate, she realized, to ask him about his smile.

“To my what?”. She couldn’t tell if he really didn’t know what she was going to ask, or if he was just going to make her say it to torture her.

“Well, the staff here has noticed that your smile is- different. There was an accident?” She resisted the urge to push her glasses farther on her nose, embarrassed for some reason, to do it in front of him. The question went unanswered for a few unsettling moments and for a second, she was worried- worried that’d overstepped her boundaries and that maybe this would be their first and last session; maybe he’d already grown tired of her and hated her. She glanced back down at her clipboard, its uselessness becoming increasingly apparent to her, and didn’t look up until he made a noise that both startled and confused her.

For the first time, she heard the Joker laugh. It wasn’t as hearty as she had heard it on the news, not as loud or sincere; like he didn’t really mean it. Even though he had thrown his whole body back so he was lying down on the floor now as she observed him, she got the sense that he wasn’t laughing because he was actually amused

“Dr. Quinzel,” he said in between chuckles. “You are funny! I knew you would be. No, Dr. Quinzel, this was no accident.” He got up from the floor, and pressed his palms out on the glass, leaning forward. He stared at her as he grinned as wide as he could, making a point to show her as much of his mouth as he could. “He did this on purpose, and much worse. Some kind of payback, I think, for what I did.”

“He? Are you referring to the Batman? Did he-he just knocked them out?” Rage filled Harleen’s heart, and so strong and sudden she had to pause for a moment to regain her composure. “I can’t imagine that sort of violence is justified. Did it hurt?” she continued, aware of how stupid a question it was but she couldn’t help it.

“It didn’t tickle,” he answered. Now that he was standing, he was above her eye level and while he looked down at her, she felt his eyes studying her face. She hoped he didn’t say anything about the glasses, but mostly she hoped he couldn’t see how upset she was at the idea of someone hurting him. “That’s just how we play though, the two of us. We chase each other and we fight each other. It’s a hoot,” he finished.

“Do you think it’s a game? I mean for you it may be but for Batman? Do you think he enjoys it like you do?” There you go Harleen, she patted herself on the back, way to sound like a therapist, which is what you are.

“Well he doesn’t enjoy it as much as I do, but that’s just because I’m better at the game than he is.” He answered, not taking his eyes off of her. “Such a deep question Doctor. This is all sounding so serious. Why would you ask me something like that? You don’t think he likes to play with me?” Without meaning to, Harleen shook her head. “Then what do you think about Batsy?” He seemed a little annoyed, but still genuinely curious, like her opinion on the Batman was important to him in some way; and so for whatever reason she felt comfortable answering him honestly.

“I think he was wrong for doing that to you.” Her answer seemed to catch him off guard, but she continued anyway. “I don’t think he thinks it’s a game, I don’t even think he did it for revenge. He did it because he was angry, because he wanted to. He hit you in the mouth because he knows what it means to you, your smile. What an important part of you it is. And he ruined it because he wanted to make you hurt. And I’m sorry that it happened to you.” Her sudden analysis surprised her, but seemed to surprise the Joker even more. He dropped his hands from the glass and took a step back, his face torn between confusion and anger. Neither of them said anything for a while. She expected him to say something, a smart ass comment or to maybe say something wildly violent or angry or inappropriate. But he just stared at her, looking increasing confused as the moments passed. “Sorry,” she said softly, because she was sorry and because she was looked for something to say. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable….” She answered honestly. Though she wasn’t very sure what she had said to make him uncomfortable, it was clear he was, and it made her uncomfortable to see him like that.

“No, that’s fine.”

“I mean it, really. I am sorry,” she responded, suddenly eager for him to know just how sympathetic she was to his situation. “If you decide that you want to continue seeing me, I want these sessions to be a place where you feel…. comfortable.”

“You are so good, Doctor Quinzel. You must be, to be able to care so much about all of your patients, no matter how fucked up we are.” His praise made her blush, and the growing intensity of his gaze almost sent her into a lightheaded panic. Her mind racing on a thousand things at once, she became aware that this was in fact a timed session, and they’d been talking for quite some time so their time was almost up. A glance at her watch confirmed her suspicions and she sighed internally as she prepared herself mentally for the end of what was, at least for her, an intense session.

“Our time is up, Mr. Joker, but please, if there is anything I can do to make you more comfortable for the next time,” she began as she grabbed her clip board and pulled herself from the desk.

“There is one thing, Doctor, if you don’t mind.” He smiled again, his head tilted slightly to the side and she couldn’t help but smile back at him in response. “Come here, Doc, it’s a secret.” With one finger he motioned for her to approach the glass. She hesitated, positive that was against one of the rules or policies Dr. Arkham had gone over with her, but she couldn’t remember any of them anyway and she didn’t see the hard it could do, so she obliged.

“Yes?” she coaxed once she had gotten closer and he still hadn’t spoken.

“I _am_ awfully self-conscious as of late, about my smile. Any way you can help with that?” he said glancing down at her own lips. She didn’t immediately realize what he was asking for, but then it dawned on her.

“Oh um, lipstick? Is that what you want?” she asked, surprised at the simplicity of his request. It would still be difficult to convince Arkham to go for it; she knew she couldn’t very well hand him a metal tube of lipstick in this place- patients weren’t permitted to have anything which could be used as a weapon and despite the fact that makeup seemed an innocent enough item, Arkham Asylum was more of a better safe than sorry place. Still, her heart melted at his asking for such a small little favor. “I’ll see what I can do.” She smiled at him again, and he smiled back. “I’ll see you tomorrow, same time same place.” She waved goodbye and began walking away, suddenly realizing just how warm she was.

“Thank you, Doctor,” he called out after her. “I hope you can help me. I’m a very sick man.”


	5. Chapter 5

Once back in her office, Harleen went to work on her first report but struggled to get anything of real substance typed out; she glanced at the clipboard she had lazily scribbled notes on during their session, but they were useless if she was being honest with herself. She was so caught up in the moment, in his presence and the fact that he was bothering to speak to her at, that she’d pretty much forgotten to write anything down, save for a few unimportant details she had made herself write hastily so she would look important. She was just beginning to imagine the scolding she would receive from Arkham on the inevitably lack luster report she would be handing in to him soon when, as if he’d sensed her thinking about him, Dr. Arkham quietly knocked on her door before entering.

“Dr. Quinzel,” he began. Alarmed and anxious at his sudden entrance, Harleen studied him to try and figure out the reason behind this unexpected visit. “How did it go?”. He didn’t seem angry, she decided. Perhaps a little nervous, probably embarrassed by their conversation earlier this morning. She felt a little bad about that, leaving so abruptly and getting so offended, when he’d really only been wanting to help her. She should apologize, she decided, as she watched him stand awkwardly in the doorway, unsure if he was allowed to sit.

“It went…well,” she searched for the right word. “He spoke the whole time at least, answered my questions for the most part. He didn’t do anything crazy.” She paused, wincing at her awkward choice of words. “In any case, Dr. Arkham,” she brushed the moment off, “I’d like to- “

“I’m sorry, Doctor.” He interrupted before she got the chance to get out her own apology. “About what I said this morning. I must have offended you, but I want you to know I think you are perfectly capable of handling a patient like the Joker. I never meant to make you think otherwise.”

“Oh that’s quiet alright,” she quickly accepted the apology, eager to get the awkward moment over with. She blushed slightly, but not just at his belief in her psychiatric capabilities. She blushed because she felt embarrassed, because she knew she hadn’t been offended because he had insinuated she was out of her depth, but because of the things she had said about her patient. She wouldn’t correct him, of course. It was better that he think that her rage had been due to having her professional abilities questioned rather than his (what she considered to be) unprofessional remarks regarding the humanity of a villainous murder clown; she didn’t want him to think that she’d gone insane. “I’m sorry to, for my dramatic exit,” she laughed nervously. “We’ll just forget the whole thing.”

“Sounds good.” He smiled at her, obviously relieved that the situation was resolved. “But the session went well? He cooperated?” he said, moving towards an armchair.

“He did,” she answered, straightening her glasses to try and put on her best professional doctor face. “I don’t know how much of a report I’ll manage to get to you, but he did talk.”

“Well then you’ve already done more than anyone else has ever managed. Like I said this morning no one’s expecting any real breakthroughs. He’s bound to be difficult.”

“Um actually,” she said, irritated again at his mention of the Joker. “He answered my questions with little hesitation. I even got him to speak on the Batman, at least a little bit.”

“Did he mention his mouth?” Dr. Arkham bolted upright in his chair, leaning in a little as if to make sure he had heard her clearly. Harleen only nodded. “And Batman too? All in one session?”

“Well yes, but to be fair,” she continued, a little uncomfortable at his excitement. “He didn’t say much about his mouth, but that’s my fault. I think I upset him…” she trailed off, thinking back to his silence when she had expressed how sorry she had been at his pain.

“I doubt that,” he chuckled. “What could you have done to upset _him_? If he even feels like that anymore.”

“I disagree,” she stiffened at his comments. “I apologized about his teeth, told him I was sorry that it happened to him, that he had been hurt like that. I think my compassion made him…uncomfortable. He doesn’t seem to get any.”

“Well why should he? All the things he’s done.”

“I think that’s part of the problem, sir. He’s probably never heard a nice thing or shown any real kindness. The only kind of relationship he’s had is with Batman-“she paused, thinking of the poor man being pummeled by that caped monster. That’s an inside thought, she decided before continuing to speak. “I know who he is and what he’s done, I just can’t help but think a little sympathy may help.” She nervously watched Dr. Arkham’s face, afraid of how he would respond. She expected him to be uncomfortable or confused, but instead he nodded thoughtfully.

“Well, it couldn’t hurt I suppose. No one’s ever thought to try kindness on a man like him, but perhaps….” He shrugged. It was clear he did not believe that the topic of their discussion could appreciate any sort of kindness, he seemed to trust Dr. Quinzel and she could be satisfied with that. They were both silent for a few moments before Dr. Arkham checked his watch and moved to leave. “Well, get the reports to me whenever. They don’t need to be filed daily, hand them all in at the end of the week if you like.”

“Ok sir.” She almost let him leave before remembering she an important question she wanted to ask. “Oh um, sir? On the subject of showing him kindness, I think he might appreciate a tube of lipstick.” He stopped in his steps, face twisting in confusion.

“Pardon?”

“Well umm…” she felt nervous and clumsy all over again. “When we spoke about his smile- he seems very sensitive about his mouth and I thought maybe if we let him wear his lipstick he might be more comfortable.” The answer is no, she thought bitterly; there’s no way he’ll go for this.

“Patients aren’t permitted to have any personal items.” He answered. “Perhaps after a few more sessions, if he continues to cooperate, to behave.” Harleen nodded in agreement, though she was disappointed. He’ll be so upset, she thought sadly.

“I understand,” she said, embarrassed that she had even asked. “It’s a little early to be awarding privileges I suppose.”

“I believe so. Like I said, we’ll see how it goes.” Harleen only half-smiled and nodded in agreement. She could tell that he was doubtful that the Joker would do anything to earn that privilege, but she hoped that together they could prove Dr. Arkham wrong.

**

At 10:00 am on the dot the next day, Harleen made her way down to their session, already feeling more comfortable with both her situation and her patient himself. She walked down the halls without any sort of nervousness or hesitation. In fact, if she was being honest with herself, she was sort of excited. She was drawn to him, for whatever reason, and though they had only had one full session, she was already coming to terms with that connection which had at first terrified her. She liked that he seemed to like her, she realized; she became more flattered with the idea that he had requested her as his therapist the more she thought about it. She didn’t completely understand what it was about her that he had picked up on so quickly, but she was glad to be able to provide him with at least some sort of pleasantness while he was here. She wasn’t sure she could actually “fix” him in the therapeutic sense of the word, but she decided she would at least try.

“Mr. Joker,” she smiled at him when she arrived. She didn’t walk to her desk right away, but towards the cell to where he was standing. He smiled back, head tilting to the side, and she couldn’t help but think about how sweet he looked. He almost looked like he was waiting, standing quietly and patiently for her arrival. “How are we today?” she said stopping in front of him.

“Better, now that I’ve seen my favorite person.” Harleen’s small smile threatened to break out into a full blown grin, but she pressed her lips together to stop it, glancing down bashfully. “Do you have something for me?”. She gave him a confused looked as she watched his child-like smile change into an intense glance. His eyes met hers first before they settled on her hand which she had absentmindedly placed in her lab coat pocket.

“Oh.” She said, suddenly ashamed of herself.  She’d been in such good spirits this morning she’d forgotten that she hadn’t been able to get him the lipstick she knew he had wanted so badly. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Joker. Um, I don’t think I’ll be able to get you a lipstick, at least not yet.” She added the last bit quickly when she saw his face fall and his eyes darken in color. Poor baby, she thought. He looked so disappointed. Without meaning to she imagined hugging him, then quickly pushed the unexpected vision away. “But I think if you continue to cooperate, I may be able to convince them.” Now she found nervous, once again anxious that he may be displeased with her.

“I see.” He said. His hands, which had been neatly folded in front of him, moved so that they were behind his back, fingers intertwined with each other as he began pacing his cell. His silence made her nervous, but she tried not to let him know that. She did feel bad though, she realized as she sat down at her desk. It was her fault, she had gotten his hopes up, let him think she would get it for him when she hadn’t been sure she’d be able to. But he had looked so happy yesterday when she told him she hadn’t wanted to take that away from him.

“Is there anything you’d like to talk about today?” she asked, trying to start the session. But something told her that this day wasn’t going to go as well as the previous one. “Anything at all?”

“Not particularly,” he continued pacing, looking up at the ceiling.

“Ok. How are you…feeling?” even she cringed at how stereotypical and dull a question that was.

“Disappointed.” His tone was indifferent, but she was ok with that. He wasn’t angry, and she was glad; for some reason she felt as though she might die if he were ever truly angry with her.

“And why is that?” she asked as if she didn’t know the answer. But, if he was going to be cold and causal with her then she would return the favor. You’re the doctor, he’s the patient. You are in complete control. But, truth be told, she was uncomfortable and a little hurt at his nonchalance towards her, and she felt more than responsible for it. But no, she tried to convince herself. This has nothing to do with you, he’s the Joker, he’s unpredictable and prone to erratic behavior and mood swings. Though he wasn’t erratic in this moment, and that sort of made it worse. If he were being erratic and insane like he appeared to everyone else, she could excuse it as a Joker thing- it wouldn’t be personal. But his stoic behavior now compared to how happy he had seemed with her yesterday made her sure it was personal, no matter how she tried to explain it away. She hoped he would have some kind of smart-ass answer, or that’d he’d laugh or something.

“Well doc,” he said still pacing, “yesterday someone was real nice to me, said they wanted to make me comfortable, that they...cared” he carefully drew out the ending of the last word, his pale lips pronouncing the word as if it were a foreign language or some kind of curse word. “They made me feel I could trust them and I asked them for a favor and they didn’t do it. So, I’m a little disappointed.” Harleen’s heart broke in two at his honesty, and she felt guilt gathering in the pit of her stomach.

“I can assure you, Mr. Joker,” she began, trying to find her authority again though she felt it slipping quickly. “They do care about your well-being, and your comfort.” He didn’t answer her, he only continued pacing, now humming softly to himself. “This is no way to get what you want, Mr. Joker. Your continued cooperation is essential.” She struggled to keep her best doctor voice; she was uncomfortable, anxious around him now but she hoped he wouldn’t be able to tell. She sat politely waiting for an answer she knew wouldn’t come, hoping more and more that he would do something- _anything- “_ crazy” or violent, half to explain away the unproductiveness of the session as compared to their first one and half to convince her that he was just as crazy as everyone one with half a brain seemed to think her was; it would be easier, she conceded, to think of him as monster. Then his feelings may not matter so much to her, she wouldn’t have to take his reaction to heart. When he still didn’t answer, she considered her options. She could just keep sitting here, but watching him ignore her would only make her upset; it was selfish, but it was true. Unprofessional as it was, Harleen in the moment wanted only to escape his disappointed judgement. It was starting to get to her, the idea that she had upset him again, that this small act of deviance was not a result of his psychotic nature, but because her own actions had sincerely hurt him; and the idea of her being able to hurt him so badly hurt _her_ more than she cared to admit at the present time. He hates you now, you’ve ruined it, she thought to herself; you were terrible to tease him like that and now he hates you, and rightfully so.

The pain and discomfort became too much to bare and though she knew it was for selfish reasons, she told herself that the reason she would leave was not because she was too sensitive and couldn’t handle her emotional shit, but because she was exercising her control as his doctor. Yes, she tried to convince herself, you are normal; you’re not leaving because you’re sad that a crazy clown may hates you, you’re leaving to make a point. She began packing her things, keeping her eyes down when all she really wanted to do was watch him so she could gauge his reaction. Once her belongings were packed messily back into her bag, she made of show of pushing her chair in so that it would make a sound, hoping to get his attention. The loud scratching of the metal chair on the hard linoleum seemed to echo for ages down the hallway before he turned to look at her, his pacing paused momentarily.

“Well, Mr. Joker, if you refuse to cooperate, there’s really no need for me to be here. I’ll file the paper work to discontinue our sessions.” She managed to sound cool and casual, like none of this mattered to her. Why do you care so much, she thought to herself, as she turned to walk away. Out of the corner of her eyes she managed to catch him glance away quickly and thought she could see his jaw tighten, ever so slightly. Don’t fool yourself Harleen, she tried to tell herself; it’s easier to think Arkham was right, he’s probably not capable of any sort of real emotions. Disappointed and ashamed of herself for even thinking such a thing, she quickly rushed herself out of his eye sight. She didn’t expect him to address her, not now at least. Just as she was beginning to make peace with the loss of this strange magnetic connection she had just begun to come to terms with when, when she had just placed her hand on the heavy door’s handle when he finally opened his mouth.

“Doctor, don’t go.” It scared her, how relieved she felt that moment. Just to make sure he really meant it, she opened the door and took one step, purposefully so he would hear it. “Please.” His voice was louder now, but still not a full blown scream. “You gotta help me, Harley, I’m all broken.”

She swooned a little at his use of her unofficial nickname and she steadied herself against the door, thankful for the metals cool touch. It delighted her, she realized, to hear him call her that, it made her feel all tingly and nervous, like stupid little girl with a crush. Once she thought she’d gotten herself under control she walked back to him after checking the time on her watch. She pouted, realizing how much time they had wasted on their silly little mind game; they would both have to made due with the remaining thirty minutes.

“And you’ll cooperate?” she asked him, unable to keep her doctor voice on any longer once she was back at his cell. He was standing in the front again, just like he had before, but this time with a small pout in his face. He looked adorable, she allowed herself to notice; like a precious little green haired baby.

“Oh I will, honest. I’ll be a good boy.” He cracked a smile and she couldn’t help but smile back.

“You promise?” she teased, excited that the air of levity between the two of them had returned.

“I promise.” He nodded. She pretended to think about it, playfully looking him up and down, crossing her arms and sighing like she was still unsure of him. “Come on doc, you’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a while.” She froze at his admission, unsure of how to respond, and even unsure if he really meant it. But she allowed herself the luxury of believing it, because it made her happy to think she made him happy, and she thought he deserved a little happiness, after everything the poor thing had gone through.

“Alright then. We only have a little time left, so let’s make the most of it,” she began to walk back towards her desk when he stopped her.

“Do you have to be so far away?” he raised one hand so it was on the glass, like he was reaching out for her. “I like it when your right here, closer to me.”

“Oh um, I’m not supposed to-“ she remembered the rules she had been given. She’d been told not to approach the glass at all, something she’d already broken, so really there shouldn’t be any harm in indulging in this one request. And plus, she’d still felt like she owed him some sort of comfort after being unable to deliver on his first request. “I can sit closer, if you’d like. For today.” She finally answered. He grinned and sat down on his cell floor, legs crossed like a school child again and she grabbed her desk chair and carried it over to his cell.

“I appreciate this, Dr. Quinzel,” he said once they had both gotten themselves comfortable. “Really, I do.”

“That’s all right,” she answered. “Well, um, we only have a few more minutes,” she said, looking at her watch again only to be disappointed again in the amount time they had left. “Is there anything you’d like to talk about now?”

“Ask me whatever you’d like.” He winked at her and she thought for sure her heart would leap out of her chest then. But she managed to keep herself composed, at least on the surface.

“Ok, um…” she paused to think for a moment. She considered asking him about Batman but resisted, worried that the sensitive subject of his smile may come up again. She thought about asking about who he was before, maybe fill in a few blanks in his personal file, but she figured that would best be left for a full session. She’d indulged him so she thought there’d be no harm in satisfying her own selfish curiosities, for the last few minutes especially after all he’d put her through today. “Why have you asked me to sit closer?”

“So I can see you better.”

“You can see me just fine from over there,” she countered. “What’s the real reason?” Harleen was searching for an answer she may have already known the answer too, she had a guess at least. But she longed to her the words out loud.

“I want you closer to me.” He said plainly. She let his words sink in, happy to have her suspicions confirmed. See he doesn’t hate you, she thought to herself proudly. “You’re still not as close as I’d like though,” he growled at her softly, and she blushed at the implication, though she was sure he couldn’t mean what she thought he meant.

“I’m practically pressed against the glass,” she pointed out.

“But I’m not close to you, not really. I feel all…disconnected. It makes me anxious.”

“What does?”

“You being out there, me being in here. It’s harder to express myself.” He threw his head back and craned his neck up toward the ceiling and stretched his arms out on either side of him. “I got a lotta shit goin’ on in here,” he shook he head aggressively from side to side, “I need help making sense of it all.” She watched him as he moved his body, noting how gracefully he moved. “Are all of your sessions held this way?”

“I don’t have any other sessions,” she answered him. She knew where he was going with this conversation and she was hoping to avoid another one of his requests.

“But if you did I don’t think you’d be separated from your patients like this.” He unfolded his legs and kicked at the glass lightly. He was now lying completely on his back, almost peacefully as he stared upward. She wondered what, if anything he was looking at, if he saw something that she wouldn’t be able to.

“No I wouldn’t,” she said deciding it would be best not to lie to him. She wanted him to trust her, after all.

“Are you afraid of me?”

“No.” she answered almost immediately. “I’m not.”

“Then why are you out there?”

“They won’t let me,” she answered truthfully.

“Who won’t let you?”

“The other doctors.”

“Do you always do as you’re told, Harley?” he asked, popping his head up a little so he could look at her.

“I-I” she didn’t know how to answer him. She wasn’t even sure of the answer herself. She felt as though she had slipped, like she had missed a step in a dark staircase and she struggled to catch herself; she hadn’t expected the conversation to go this way, she thought she knew what he was going to ask her. Instead, however, she ended up offering him the very thing she had perhaps wrongfully assumed he had been getting at this whole time. “If…you’d be more comfortable in a session room…I could ask.” Harleen tried hard not to give him a definite answer, hoping to avoid a repeat of this morning.

“Oh could you?” he jolted upright in one swift motion, and he looked so excited she could hardly stand it.

“I can’t make any promises, but…I can try.” She straightened her glasses on her face, realizing that their time would soon be up. “I have to go now, but I will try. I-I don’t want to disappoint you,” she spoke just above a whisper, but she knew that he had heard her by the intense look her gave her.

“Oh, I know that. And I appreciate that.”

**

After their session that day, Harleen rushed to her office and anxiously phoned Dr. Arkham, deciding that a certain amount of truth might be helpful in making her case for moving her sessions with the Joker into an actual session room.

“Dr. Arkham, I think it would help establish more trust,” she said, reminding him that he himself had agreed this morning that a more gentle, kind approach might be useful with him. “There’s no harm in trying,” she had told him.

“There could be some harm,” he answered. “To you.” Harleen held back a sigh, resisting the urge to tell him that for some reason, she was sure he would not hurt her. She tried to come up with a counterargument that was capable of being seen as logical _and_ getting her what she wanted, but luckily she didn’t need to. “I suppose, if his cooperation is still strongly desired- there could be some precautions taken.”

And so after only two sessions with the most notorious patient in Arkham Asylum, she had not only managed to get the clown prince of crime himself to cooperate and possibly trust her, but also managed to convince the director of the asylum to let him out of his cell. Sure, he would be aggressively restrained in a straight-jacket, and undoubtedly strapped into a chair which would of course need to be bolted to the floor, but still. By week’s end, Dr. Arkham had promised, perhaps in order to prove how much he trusted the Harleen, they would have a special session room prepared just for herself and the Joker. She wouldn’t tell Mr. J, though, she decided, just in case something were to happen; no use in both of them being disappointed, so she would shield him from that at least. It would make for a great surprise, too, she thought. She would walk in next week and tell him they would be in the same room, and he would smile at her and know that she trusted him, that she had fought for this for him.

She went through the rest of the week in a daze, unable to contain her excitement during the last three sessions of the week. On the third one, Friday morning, she nearly spoiled the surprise right there.

“Dr. Quinzel,” he teased her, “What’s got you so jolly?” She wondered if he had suspected her good news; they hadn’t mentioned his desire to be closer to her since their second session and he hadn’t asked about it again. For the rest of the week they’d flirted more than anything else, talking about the sort of things which probably didn’t matter in the long run but for some reason seemed like incredibly important and intimate details for the both of them. If Harleen had really thought about it, she would have realized that it was she who had been revealing the most personal information, an unprofessional no-no in the therapeutic world, but she was too happy as of late to really care.

“Nothing in particular,” she lied, a large smile on her face. It was probably safe to tell him her secret project, but she didn’t want to, not until Monday. How lovely, she thought, to spend two days apart only to be reunited face to face on Monday morning. “So how are we today?”

There session went on as usual, though Harleen was sure that each session was becoming shorter than the last. She packed up her things and waved goodbye to him after she moved her chair back to the desk where she had found it.

“Oh Doctor,” he called out after her when she turned her back to him. “Sure you won’t tell me what’s got you so excited? Give me something to hold on to, until Monday,” he pouted. During the session he had mentioned how much he would miss her this weekend, despite it only being two days. She smiled softly at him, unsure of how to answer. “I know it’s got to do with me, I think I ought to know.”

“How do you know it involves you?” she answered playfully. “It could have nothing to do with you. I could be going on a date,” she meant it as a joke, but she immediately realized that he did not think it was funny.

“You aren’t.” He spoke as if he were forbidding it, her going out with someone else. If she had been going on a date, she thought to herself, she’d have cancelled it just to spare his feelings. But she felt oddly flattered at his jealousy.

“No, I’m not.” She answered, more seriously now so that he would push that worry out of his mind. “It’s a good thing, for both of us though,” she smiled as she started to walk away.

“Oh don’t leave me hanging, baby doll,” he called after her. “Tell me what it is,” he was practically begging.

“Mr. Joker,” she called back to him, “Don’t worry, you’ll see on Monday.”


	6. Chapter 6

Harleen spent her weekend in a fuzzy sort of daze, anxious and unable to think straight- but in the best way possible. She imagined that the other therapist at Arkham didn’t feel nearly this giddy about their Monday sessions. In fact, most of them were probably dreading the end of the weekend, eager for a break from what some (most) would consider to be a hostile working environment but she was eager to get back. Those two long in between her and the Joker’s sessions would have been unbearable, were she not so excited about her little surprise. When her request had first gotten approved, she had tried to convince herself that her moving him out of that cell and into a session room with her was nothing more than a smart psychiatric move, done strictly for the benefit of her patient and his well-being; it would make his treatment more productive, she reasoned. He would trust her more because she’d done something he had asked her, and he would know that she wasn’t afraid of him and then he would able to more easily open up to her and then they would be able to really make progress on his recovery. Yes, Dr. Quinzel she had told herself, this is a strategic and strictly professional move towards your patient’s mental health.

But after spending a whole week with the Joker and the whole weekend reflecting on their time together, she had come to terms with the fact that it was a little more than that. She was excited, she allowed herself to realize, to come face to face with him, to be in his actual physical presence- to be closer to him. She liked him, she liked being around him; she loved the way she felt around him, the way he made her feel. And she liked to think that he liked her too, that he got half as much pleasure being around her as she did being around him. It made her feel special, alive, the idea that he liked her, and she knew being in physical contact with him (well, as much physical contact as could be allowed in his situation), being in the same room as him would only intensify the exhilaration she’d felt the whole week and it was a feeling she couldn’t wait to experience.

By Sunday night, Harleen was practically bouncing off the walls. She couldn’t sit still for more than few minutes and by that time of night when most people had gone to bed, she could only toss and turn in her sheets. Wide awake, she tried for a little while to turn her brain off, ignoring any and all thoughts that came to her then, telling herself that the earlier she could make herself fall asleep the sooner she’d be across from that green-haired angel.

 Shit, not an angel, she tried to correct herself. He’s not an angel, he’s a patient and you are his doctor and to think anything else would be wildly inappropriate and unprofessional.

All weekend she’d be fighting off thoughts like that, and much worse. It was embarrassing, and sometimes exhausting, to constantly have to filter and censor her brain like that. She wasn’t an idiot, she knew she was beginning to feel something for the strange man- she knew she cared for him and she knew she cared for him more than was typical of any doctor/patient relationship, but she knew he was far from typical. During the week, being inside the Asylum it had been easier to convince herself, to a certain degree, that her kindness was only for the purposes of his eventual recover. But since being all alone in her apartment all weekend and now in night with nothing but her thoughts to listen to, and nothing to distract her it had been harder to deny the fact that these feelings may be deeper. So all weekend she’d tried not to think about it, afraid of what she might learn about herself if she did. But now it was almost two in the morning and she couldn’t sleep. What harm could it do, really, to stop fighting the thoughts at least until she could fall asleep? And so she decided to let her mind wander, go to those places she had tried to stay away from and think those thoughts she had tried to push away.

She imagined his bright blue eyes and big red smile, even though she hadn’t been lucky enough to see it yet. She pictured the two of them sitting across from each other, some place far away from the Arkham Asylum, and she imagined him reaching across and taking her hand in his; Harleen normally would have stopped herself right there, in fact should would have stopped himself long before this point if she was smart, but she let her mind wander further. Without really meaning to, without realizing or even fully understanding what tricks her subconscious was play on her, she imagined him kissing her. She pictured him leaning in towards her, his fingers gently stoking her face before lifting her chin up before he pressed his lips softly on her own.

Harleen stopped herself then, overwhelmed both by the mere thought of the Joker and by her own inappropriate romantic fantasy. She would have been embarrassed and ashamed of herself, had she not felt herself finally growing tired. Her eagerness for sleep increased ten-fold, if only so that she may escape herself for a few hours. She shut her eyes, settling herself into her bed more deeply than before and drifted off to sleep, thinking of the fantasy clown kiss again in spite of herself.

* * *

 

When Harleen had woken up the next morning she felt as though her head were in a strange fog, the kind of fog when you wake up from a deep, deep sleep and need to take a few seconds to remember where you are or what’s happening. And he had slept deeply, very deeply, in fact. It was one of the best nights of sleep she’d had in a while. After stretching out a little bit and once her head had cleared, she popped out of bed suddenly remembering what she was going to do today. Absentmindedly, she glanced at alarm clock and then, realizing the time, shot up out of bed.

Though she was in a hurry, she still thought she’d better at least try to make herself look put together, dressing herself in a red and blue patterned blouse and pencil skirt and applying a little make up. She stared at her makeup drawer for a little bit, her eyes fixed on a cherry red lipstick she’d never had the courage to wear. Dr. Arkham shouldn’t object to it now, so long as she doesn’t actually _give_ him the lipstick to keep. Besides, she reasoned, perhaps the small token would be able make up for her inevitable lateness, she thought to herself and she slipped the small tube in her pocket.

You’re still an idiot to be so late, today of all days, she scolded herself a half hour later as she rushed into Arkham, shoving her glasses roughly on her face. Though she had gotten here as fast as she could she was still fifteen minutes late for the Joker’s session and she still had to see Arkham to go over the session room and safety protocols. Mr. Joker would not be pleased, she sighed to herself before going to Dr. Arkham’s office. Noting the time and Harleen’s state of anxiety, he quickly escorted her to the newly arranged session room. She wasn’t giving the doctor her full attention but she managed to catch the important stuff- he’d be in a straight-jacket, secured to the floor, panic button under the table in case of emergencies and all of that. She nodded when she was supposed to and when he asked if she understood she said she did, but Dr. Arkham seemed concerned. When Harleen anxiously checked her watch for about the tenth time in their fifteen-minute tour, he finally seemed to notice how disturbed she seemed.

“Dr. Quinzel?” he asked softly. “Are you alright? You seem anxious?” he continued once she glanced up from her watch.

“Fine sir, it’s just I’m running late this morning and I don’t what to keep Mr. Jok- my patient waiting,” she answered truthfully but stopped herself from calling the Joker by name in Dr. Arkham’s presence.

“Well I wouldn’t worry about it, it’s not like he has anywhere to be,” he said it lightly, probably hoping to ease anxiety with a joke but she didn’t laugh; she couldn’t laugh at that, she thought, it was cruel to mock the man for being incarcerated. “Besides,” he said after an uncomfortable silence, “if you need extra time for this or any other sessions in the future, we don’t have the other inmate’s leisure time to work around.” Harleen’s eyes widened, excitement now replacing her anxiety.

“Do ya mean it?” her accent slipped out despite her best efforts, but in the moment she didn’t care. He brought up a good point; another added perk of this new session room was that there were no time constraints, no time she needed to be out so that the other inmates could return to their cells. I could spend hours and hours with him, she mused. How lucky was she!

“I mean technically your sessions could go as long as you’d like,” he looked at her clearly confused by her switch in tone and accent. “But I still urge you to limit your time with him, it gives structure to the patient. Besides, you mustn’t overexert yourself.” He warned.

“Of course sir.” She regained her composure and nodded politely.

“It also depends on the guards,” he continued as they walked out of the room. “They’ll always be at least two assigned to him. They’ll escort him in and out of his cell, make sure he’s secured once he’s in here.” Harleen’s face fell.

“Will they be in the room during our sessions?”

“Not unless you want them to be, though I recommend you have them sit in to begin with.”

“No,” she answered almost automatically. When he shot her a concerned look she quickly added, “It might be hard to get him to open up as much with people he’s not comfortable with.”

“Fair enough,” he replied. The truth was she couldn’t bear to have their alone time ruined by strangers listening in, but he bought her therapeutic reasoning anyway. The two of them stood awkwardly outside of the session room and when he didn’t dismiss her right away, Harleen got impatient.

“Are the guards with him now?” she started to walk toward the staircase. “I should really be going.” He’ll be so angry with me, she kept repeating to herself.

“They aren’t at his cell, no. They’re in the hall though, waiting for your instructions,” he answered, still eyeing her cautiously. “Harleen?” he called after her once she had placed her hand on the door. She held back an exasperated sigh.

“Sir?” she tried to sound respectful, but she was beginning to get angry.

“Are you- alright? Is this too much?” His kind tone gave her pause and she turned to face him. “Remember, if at any time you feel like it’s too much-“

“I’m okay sir,” she answered sincerely. He seemed very concerned at the moment, and she felt bad about his worrying over her so even if she didn’t much appreciate how he spoke about the Joker. And she wasn’t lying to him, not really. She was okay, she thought to herself. Sure emotionally she had been more stable, but she really was okay. “Honest,” she added when he still didn’t look convinced.

“Alright Dr. Quinzel, if you’re sure. But promise you’ll tell me if aren’t? If you ever need a break- you have the most difficult case of anyone in here, so any time you feel overwhelmed-come talk to me.”

“I will, I promise.” He seemed satisfied enough with her answer and gave her a soft smile.

“Before you get going, just for my own peace of mind- do you have any questions for me? Anything at all?” Harleen paused and pretended to think about it, but was glad he’d asked her once she remembered the lipstick she had almost forgotten she’d brought with her.

“Actually sir, I do have something I wanted to run by you one more time,” she said. “I know we’ve discussed the Joker’s lipstick and we’ve said too early to award privileges,” she was nervous for his answer but thought she might as well take advantage of his sympathy. “But would it be possible for the Joker to at least wear lipstick, if only for our sessions? I wouldn’t dream of giving the tube or letting him keep it in his possession. But I thought that perhaps it would-“

“Make him for comfortable?” he answered her, sympathy seemingly replaced by boredom. Shit, she thought, does he not believe me? Does he think I’m an idiot?

“Yes sir.” She managed to squeak out while she searched his face for any indication of an answer.

“I suppose- during your sessions, for the sake of therapy.” He answered, but seemed uncomfortable still. “As long as you’re not technically giving him the lipstick it should be fine…” he trailed off, his concerned eyes meeting her anxious ones.

“Thank you sir,” she said before leaving. She got the sense that he wanted to say something else to her, but she rushed out afraid he might change his mind.

Once she reached her destination, she glanced at her clock once more. 10:35 am, she noted. She was suddenly nervous- what if he was angry with her? What if he wouldn’t see her? Or worse what if he hadn’t even cared or noticed that she hadn’t been there on time? The latter thought cut her to the core, the panic almost paralyzing her in the hallway. But she pushed it aside, her desire to see him outweighing her fear (at least for the present time) and she made her way down towards him. So focused was she on her the task at hand she almost missed the two men beside the hallway door, arms crossed in front of them, looking as if this was the last place they’d rather be.

“Dr. Quinzel?” One of them grumbled when she didn’t address them after a while.

“Yes?” she asked, half forgetting who they were or what they would want from her. “Oh!” she said once she realized. “You’re the guards-“

“For today, at least,” the other one pipped up. “What’s the plan?”

In a rush, eager to get the session started despite the fact that their time together would more or less be unlimited, she told them to wait out of the Joker’s eyesight for the time being, so that she might explain the situation to him and prepare him for the move. He’d be compliant, she promised them when they seemed hesitant. And she hoped that he would be, if it meant he could see her. Then the two men, whose names Harleen didn’t bother to learn, left to retrieve the necessary items for the Joker’s internal transfer, promising to meet her outside of his cell in a few minutes. She thanked them and began walking towards the cell. She thought she’d heard one of the men mumbled under their breath about how rude she was, but she didn’t care; she was too anxious, excited, to focus on niceties and politeness. As she got closer to the Joker’s cell however, she felt that anxiety turn to joy the second she was able to make out his figure in the cell. She couldn’t quite read his mood right away, but she was still excited, fighting the urge to run down the hall so she could be nearer to him just a few seconds earlier.

She didn’t exactly know how she expected to find him once she got there- a little angry, perhaps a small pout on his lips due to her lateness; but she did still expect to see him standing there, waiting for her the way he had been last week. She’d gotten used to it, in fact that was part of what she looked forward to the most-she liked thinking he was waiting for her the same way she’d been waiting for him. However, Harleen was left confused and almost heartbroken to see him away from the glass and lying on the small cot in the corner, hands folded neatly behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. She couldn’t see his face so she wasn’t able to read his expression right away, but he didn’t seem angry or disappointed; he was uninterested, unbothered. Unused to his being so unaffected by her presence, she thought perhaps he didn’t realize that she was there.

“Ahem,” she loudly pretended to clear her throat but still the Joker did not acknowledge her presence. “Mr. Joker?” she raised her voice so she was sure he’d heard her and he did, she realized, as his eyes flitted quickly over to her and then back at the ceiling. This was much worse- his indifference hurt her more than his anger. Say something, please look at me, she screamed at him internally, though was managing to appear just as disinterested in him. She crossed her arms and straightened her glass, playing up her doctor role as she looked at him, considering her options. “Mr. Joker, I apologize for being late. The time will be made up, I promise.” Still, he said nothing. “I had a few things to take care of…” she tried to pique his interest, hoping his curiosity might make him care again. But you blew it, she thought to herself, he hates you for sure this time. No no, she tried to stop her irrational reaction. That’s what you thought last week and he forgave you, she repeated that thought and over again before continuing. She wracked her brain, trying to think of something, anything she could say to get his attention. “Fine, if that’s the way you want to be. I’ll terminate your therapy.” She tried to sound threatening, hoping her words- that the threat of never seeing her again would strike him _half_ as much as she knew it would hurt her. Her heart leapt for a fraction of a second, when his head turned to face her. See, she thought to herself almost on accident, he cares.

“Is that a promise or a threat, doctor?”

“Mr. Joker,” she replied, eager to keep the contact going. She would ignore his hurtful response, at least for the time being. She’d internalize it, sure, fret about it on her own time, but now she just wanted to be near him. “I’ve apologized for being late. If you’d like, we can talk about-“

“Your desk wasn’t there.”

“Excuse me?” she asked, confused by what he meant.

“You promise me this big old surprise, I spend all weekend waiting for you. And you’re not here.” Every word was carefully pronounced, every syllable eloquently stressed. His tone was indifferent but she could tell not just by his words but by the slight rigidness in his body language that he was troubled, and she was relieved. Not because he was hurting or because she had made him hurt, but because (at least for right now) she could he didn’t hate her.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I was doing something important…” she cracked a smile, walking closer to the glass in the hopes that he would follow suit. “It was _for_ your surprise actually. If you’d let me, I wanna tell you about it.” She motioned with one of her hands for him to come closer to her while her other hand thumbed the tube of lipstick in her pocket. “Come here, stop being a baby.” The Joker growled playfully, moving from his cot and over towards her. “How would you like to get out of this cell, huh?”

“Oh Doctor,” he pressed his body against the glass, resting on his harms. “You don’t mean…?”

“I do!” she exclaimed, too excited to contain herself. Embarrassed by the small emotional outburst, she quickly put her doctor voice back on. “Mr. Joker, in a few minutes you will be moved into our new session room. You will be secured-”

“You mean restrained?” his face fell a little as a small growl escaped his lips.

“I-um-“she hadn’t expected him to be surprised by that, and certainly not offended by it, though she supposed maybe she should have. “Unfortunately yes,” she answered, hoping he wouldn’t let a small thing like a straight-jacket ruin what she had hoped would be a special day for them. She watched nervously as he shut his eyes, anxious for him to respond. Please don’t be angry, please don’t hate me, she wanted to say, but she could only wait in silence.

“Anything to get closer to you,” he said finally. Harleen couldn’t help but grin. “Though I’ll be terribly uncomfortable.” He pouted.

“Aren’t I worth it, though?” she tried to keep her tone light, like she was teasing him, but she knew his answer would to her more than it should.

“Oh Harley, you’re more than worth it.”

**

Harleen stayed with the Joker while the orderlies transferred him, not so much to ensure he would behave for their sake but so she could make sure that _they_ didn’t hurt it; Arkham staff had a reputation of being a little rough, particularly with their more….extreme personality patients and though Harleen hadn’t seen any such behavior while she had been there, she suspected that at least some of the bruises she had seen on his body must have been recent. Everyone was silent from the time he’d been secured in his cell up until he’d been tethered to his chair in the session room.

“You’re free to go,” Harleen told them when they didn’t immediately leave. “I’ve got this covered.”

“You sure miss?” one of them questioned. He wasn’t trying to be rude, she knew that. In fact the man looked genuinely concerned, either for her sanity of safety, she couldn’t be sure. “This guy’s-“

“My patient, and as such entitled to some privacy. He won’t hurt me.” Without another word the two left, shutting the door behind them. She could still them though, out of the small window on the door. When she was sure they weren’t peering in, she spoke. “Anything you’d like to talk about?”

“Oh no, I think I’m okay.”

“How are you feeling? Are you comfortable?” she asked, eyeing his restraints. They looked tight, too tight for her liking, but he didn’t look particularly uncomfortable.

“I’ve never been better.”

The pair were silent then, quietly looking each other over. It felt almost like she was seeing him for the first time; having him right across from her, so close she could touch him if she really wanted to, was more satisfying than she had ever thought it could be. It was comforting, more intimate, him not being behind glass. It seemed to intensify every feeling she’d ever had with him- she felt the same exhilaration, the same magnetic pull at a hundred times their original strength. She stared at him, trying to commit every detail of his angelic face into her memory. He was handsome, she realized, beautiful even, despite the white skin. She imagined in his previous life he must have been gorgeous, but then she thought he was gorgeous now. Still, she couldn’t help but try to imagine what he must have looked like. Were his eyes always this blue, were his cheek bones always so striking? She would have felt awkward staring at him this way had he not been observing her just as intently. After a while though their silence made her nervous, and so she gave him one last glance over before trying to decide what she would want to talk about today, searching his appearance for any kind of hint as to what would be a good starting point. Her eyes finally rested on his forehead, startled to see letters there that she had not noticed before and could not make out right away.

“What does that say?” She abruptly questioned as she leaned in towards him without any sort of hesitation or acknowledgement of personal boundaries. The Joker however showed some discomfort, though he seemed more troubled by the question than their closeness. He didn’t answer her, instead leaning in so she could see it more clearly. _Damaged._ She frowned, not bother to try and hide her disapproval. “Why would you do that to yourself?”

“It doesn’t say anything that’s not true,” he countered, seemingly confused and caught off guard by her concern. He’d better get used to it, she thought to herself.

“I don’t think you’re damaged,” she spat out the word like it was curse, hating to even have to say it out loud. “What a terrible thing to think about yourself.”

“Ha ha ha,” he said the words but it didn’t sound like laughter, oddly enough.

“Why do you feel that way?” she couldn’t help but psychoanalyze; that is why they were technically here after all. He didn’t answer, only cracked a big smile. “Your teeth?” she asked, desperately seeking an answer. She must have been wrong though, read to much into it. His eyes darkened and his mouth snapped shut, just like before when she had pressed him on the subject. “Sorry,” she apologized again as she did before.

“You know how sensitive a subject that is, Dr. Quinzel.” He scolded her, but he couldn’t possibly be more annoyed at her than she was at herself.

“Yes, I know, I’m sorry! Oh!” she said suddenly becoming aware of the lipstick in her pocket. She’d been holding it lightly between her fingers the whole time, fiddling with it mindlessly, too distracted to remember. “I can make it up to you though- I mean, I think I have something that might help with that.” He watched her, amusement in his eyes now, as she placed the tube on the table.

“You spoil me, Doctor.”

“It’s nothing, I- I just felt bad for disappointing you the first time. You can’t have it in your cell, safety reasons, but-“ she rushed hoping to avoid another display of disapproval. “You can wear it in our sessions. Like I said, I want you-“

“Comfortable. How sweet of you, that’s two favors in one day. What a lucky man I am!” She glanced away, blushing slightly. When she looked up, however, she gasped, his face now reminding her of what she would have to do.

His eyes were closed and his lips pucker out, like a child. Her eyes widened as she fought the urge to lean in and press her own lips against his. She banished the thought quickly though, as he hands clumsily grasped the lipstick. His eyes were still closed, and for that she was grateful as she was able to plan how she would approach this. Her arms were too short and he hadn’t leaned in enough, so neither would be able to reach the other properly. She would have to move closer to him, she realized, as eager as she was terrified at the thought of being so close to him. She quietly removed herself from her chair and over towards him, half hoping he would keep his eyes closed as she was sure that any prolonged eye contact from such a close distance would break her.

Steadying her shaking hand, she removed the cap and gently placed the red stick on his lips. His eye lids flew open at her touch, but she avoided looking him the eye, afraid of the intimacy it may imply. It was a futile effort, she realized as tried to focus on the task at hand. Sure she hadn’t been looking him in the eye, but staring at his mouth was almost worse. The pull she felt toward him was stronger than she’d realized it could ever be and the desire kiss him, even for just a moment was too much to bear. She managed to fight the unprofessional urge, though with much difficulty. When she was done, she stepped away, without another word, and carefully walked back to her chair hoping he didn’t see just how much that moment had affected her. But she felt almost lightheaded, her feet suddenly felt heavy as she fumbled her way to the other side of the desk. She didn’t have the courage or the nerve to look at him for a few moments, but he waited patiently.

“Now then,” she said as she pushed a strand of hair behind her ears, “Let’s continue-“ she stopped mid-sentence as her eyes finally met his.

Without breaking eye contact, the Joker pressed lips together, moving them against each other to ensure an even distribution of the red paste. She couldn’t look away, although she wanted to if only to stop her cheeks from turning even more red then they had already, but there was something hypnotic, dare she say almost seductive in his movements.

“Thank you, Harley.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, breathlessly. “Are you-um- a little more comfortable now?”

“Oh, Harley I’m incredibly comfortable, I can assure you.”


	7. Chapter 7

In the weeks following Harleen and Joker’s change of scenery, the two of them had developed a sort of routine. In the mornings, Harleen would oversee the guards as they moved Joker from his cell to the session room, watching to make sure that he cooperated and that the guards treated him well; on a couple occasions they would jolt him upright too quickly or shove him more roughly than was necessary, and she would immediately scold them for it. Once they two of them were alone in the session room and Harleen was satisfied that the guards weren’t peeking in, she’d rub an admittedly ridiculous amount of lipstick on his mouth (they used up a tube every two weeks or so) and they’d begin. Though their sessions were allowed to go as long as she wanted, every moment she sat across from the pale porcelain clown prince felt fleeting; she could spend hours in that room, just the two of them, and no matter what it always seemed to feel as though it were passing so quickly; some days she could almost swear that her watch was moving in double, sometimes triple time. However, once the sessions had ended, she could almost swear she’d been with Joker for hours. She would emerge from the room after a measly few hours feeling as though she’d been away for days; without fail, she’d always feel a euphoric and warm kind of dizziness wash over her, destabilizing but oddly enjoyable. It was as if the four walls of the session room were so far removed from Arkham- from Gotham City, from the world- that it was a different kind of place entirely. Inside the room it was warm and exciting and fun and alive, but as soon as the door slammed behind her she felt empty and bored- painfully under stimulated.

When she went home, either because of a weekend or to write reports, she craved the company of Joker. She longed to speak with him, to laugh with him…to touch him.

Yes, after weeks of trying to explain the butterflies away and weeks more of waiting for a crush that she had thought was only the result of an unprofessional combination of (what she decided to call) psychiatric over sympathizing and loneliness to pass, Dr. Harleen Quinzel had accepted that what she felt and had felt from the very beginning was deeper. She wasn’t in love with him, at least not yet. But she was falling, she knew that, and each day that passed was only intensifying those feelings. In the earlier weeks she had fought it, aggressively denied the self-imposed accusation, afraid that accepting them would only do her harm. Then she had admitted it, though only to herself, but simultaneously tried to explain it away and excuse it. But only recently had she fully accepted it, allowed herself not only surrender to the fall but enjoy it. It was nice to love someone, it was fulfilling. Though it was also equally infuriating and often times anxiety inducing, particularly when Joker was the object of one’s affections. She fretted over him constantly, even when she was with him, worrying about what perhaps any other person might logically assume- that he did not love her and would not love her. On multiple occasions she would lay in her bed, bottle of wine in hand, mulling over that possibility; she could only allow herself to entertain the dreadful idea when she was drunk and even then it hurt her so intensely she’d often shed a few tears before passing out.

Option A: he was a text book sociopath and would not love her because he was simply incapable of it; a rock could not give you blood and perhaps the Joker could not give Harleen the kind of love and affection she knew she was all too ready to give him. She thought she preferred this option of the two, though they were both terrible, because it was less personal. It wasn’t that she was flawed or unlovable, but that he himself could not love her. It was still terrible, awful, to think that a man she loved so earnestly could not feel in that way for her or anyone else- it made her heart break for him. But, she preferred it to option B: that he very well could love but just wouldn’t love Harleen because he simply didn’t want to. Though option B had been her least favorite alternative in her oversimplification of the issue at hand, it was an easier anxiety and fear for her to rationalize. In every minute of every session she was overanalyzing, eager for some kind of validation or sign that he had some kind of affection for her; she worked hard to please him, make him comfortable, and watched his responses to her carefully, reading into them more than she knew she should. It truly overwhelmed her at times, and she was intelligent enough and self-aware enough to know she was in danger of slipping, but she couldn’t help it anymore; it almost felt like an addiction.

She wanted to know more about Joker, gain a deeper understanding the man she already loved so much. In the beginning she felt as though she had been helping him, and some days she felt like the two of them were on the brink of curing him, getting to the root of his problems. But after those days, she always pulled back, fluffed up the conversations again. She was afraid to ask to intrude too much on him; she avoided the kind of deep unpacking of trauma that was typical of her line of work for fear it would upset him or make him angry with her in some way. So then they spent their time together talking about random sort of things; they were more like rambling conversations between friends and while they were compelling, but they had little psychiatric value. As such her weekly reports to Dr. Arkham were lackluster on their best days and sloppy on all the others. Though she had pushed away her professional goal of a tell-all book, she still desired to keep her position at Arkham Asylum, if only to avoid the extreme separation anxiety she knew awaited her should she ever be fired.

It was that very worry which occupied her mind one morning when Dr. Arkham had called Harleen into his office. Though in the first couple weeks since he had approved her session room he had dropped in on her from time to time to check on her, it had been weeks since she’d had any sort of interaction with the man outside her reports and a few polite professional emails so she was sure this wasn’t going to be about anything good. She just hoped that whatever scolding he had in store for her would be quick, as she had just called down for Joker’s transport and was on her way down to meet the orderlies when he had called. She wasn’t crazy enough to put off her meeting with Arkham, though the thought of the orderlies being down there alone with him almost made her do it.

“Dr. Arkham?” she knocked lightly on his door even though it was opened. “You wanted to see me?”

“Oh yes Harleen, come on in,” he answered. He didn’t look angry, she noted immediately, so she knew she wasn’t in any kind of trouble. But he had also called her Harleen, and he only called her (or she supposed any other doctor in the asylum) by her first name when he was concerned or worried about their wellbeing. Shit, she thought to herself as she settled into a seat across from him. That was almost worse than being in trouble; she half hoped she was wrong, that she really was in great trouble and he just felt bad for her.

“Is something the matter sir? Have I done something wrong?” she asked, unable to help herself. She hated the way she sounded, immature and inexperienced.

“No, nothing is…wrong.” He folded his hands together and laid them on his desk as he looked her up and down, as if considering how to approach this conversation.

“Is it my reports, sir? I know they aren’t full of a lot of…information, but-“

“Oh no, Harleen the reports are fine- I mean, the information is perfectly acceptable. Still more than we’ve learned about him in all his stints here at Arkham. But there is something I would like to discuss with you about them.”

“Yes sir,” she responded nervously as she pushed her glasses up on her nose.

“You’re still not in trouble, don’t worry,” he cracked a sympathetic smile. “I just…wanted to see if you’re okay.”

“I-I’m fine…?” she answered, clearly confused. “Why do you ask?” she asked, when she really wanted to ask what that had to do with her reports.

“Are you sure? I know it seems like I’m always asking, and I don’t mean to bother you. But I feel like I haven’t spoken with you in a while and these reports…”

“I thought they were fine?”

“They are, it’s just- the way the way that they’re written…the way you speak about the Joker…” he paused, uncomfortable with the question she knew he was about to ask her. “There is a tenderness in the way to speak about him- a softness, a sensitivity beyond what I think is…appropriate for a psychiatrist.” He chose his words carefully and spoke professionally, but she knew what he was really asking her and was just too afraid to say. Defensive, and a little embarrassed she replied too quickly.

“What are you implying, sir? That I’ve fallen in love with my patient?” she scoffed, hoping her forced laughter would make him think otherwise. Act like it’s some sort of unheard of or outlandish thought, like it’s laughable and you’ve never considered such a thing, she told herself. “I wouldn’t worry about that sir. It would be terribly unprofessional, and more than a little ridiculous.” He seemed unconvinced by her answer, so she kept going. “I’ll admit that I am tenderhearted, I perhaps am a little more sympathetic that certain situations call for, but I assure you-“

“It’s not your level of professionalism which concerns me- it’s not the idea that you may have feelings towards a patient,” he countered, careful not to use the word love, “While that would be an issue it’s not what concerns me. What concerns me isn’t your tenderness towards a patient…so much as the _who_ the patient is.”

“What is that supposed to mean, huh?” Irritated more than embarrassed now, she felt her accent slip out again but was too annoyed to care.

“It’s not your fault, Harleen, if you find yourself slipping. I want you to know that. It’s more of a reflection on the Joker than it is of you. It’s my fault too, I should have paid closer attention, been more careful with you. The kind of manipulation he’s capable of-“

“I ain’t being manipulated, I ain’t in love with the Joker,” she paused to compose herself and put her doctor voice back on. “I apologize that I’ve made you worry. If it would help to make you feel better, I will be sure to write up my reports more carefully. Now if you’ll excuse me, my patient is being transported-“ she moved to leave but he stopped her.

“You don’t need to be present for the transport, the Joker will still be there when we’ve finished.”

“I prefer to be present, the orderlies are rough with him.” She immediately regretted her response and closed her eyes so she could escape the judging look she was sure Dr. Arkham was giving her. Neither of them spoke for several moments and an uncomfortable and tense silence filled the office. 

“You can’t fix him Harleen.” He said bluntly. “His brain doesn’t work the way yours or mine does, he doesn’t process emotions in a normal way. He can’t.” Harleen’s anger melted away and was replaced by pain at his words which confirmed what she had suspected and feared about her and Joker’s situation. Sensing this shift, Dr. Arkham’s tone became gentle. “I think you’re just too close to the situation, a little overwhelmed maybe?” Harleen nodded without fully meaning to. “I won’t terminate your sessions with him, at least not now. But maybe a little time away might allow you to gain some perspective.” It wasn’t an order, just a simple suggestion. One she wouldn’t take, at least not now. She wasn’t going to leave him, she couldn’t. More than ever she now desired to help Joker, to fix him and prove Dr. Arkham wrong; she wanted to prove to him, and to herself, that Joker was just broken and that underneath everything he was just a man- like any other man, who wanted and was capable of having all the kinds of things normal men wanted and had. He can be fixed, she repeated to herself manically, he can love me. Though she had only been thinking those things to herself, the last part felt like a whisper.

“If I ever need a break, I promise you will be the first to know.” She tried to smile at him, to let her know that she was okay and that she appreciated his concern, but the smile fell flat and she felt it.

“Alright,” was all Dr. Arkham replied. She knew he was unsatisfied with her response; he had probably hoped that he could convince her to start her leave immediately, but he didn’t want to force her. Harleen began to leave again, careful to take her time so it didn’t look as though she was rushing to get to her patient. Once she reached the door, she turned around again with a smile to thank Arkham for his time and also as a last attempt to show him she was perfectly fine. She wasn’t fine, but she hoped he couldn’t tell.

“Thank you for your time, sir.”

“That’s alright, Dr. Quinzel,” she relaxed a little, happy to hear him use her last name again. She turned on heels to leave with her hand on his office door handle, preparing to close it. “Be careful,” she heard him say as she pressed the door shut behind her.

**

“Hello Dr. Quinzel,” Joker addressed Harleen but didn’t turn his head to look at her, whether because of his limited mobility or his displeasure she couldn’t be exactly sure. But she wasn’t preoccupied with his mood, not now after the conversation she’d just been in.

“I apologize Mr. Joker, I was in a meeting.” She sounded cold, but then she meant to. She had decided on her walk down to the session that she was going to try, today more than ever, to make some kind of therapeutic break through. No matter what he did or didn’t want to talk about, she was going to push him, get beneath the surface. She had to, even though it would hurt them both, if she was ever going to fix him and prove Arkham wrong. It was going to be hard, harder for her than him maybe, to make him uncomfortable and angry with her. But then she would try her hardest to disconnect, at least a little bit. It was all for his own good. “Shall we begin?”

“Nuh uh.” He shook his head. Harleen half wondered if his being difficult was a direct response to her own change in tone and mood. “Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“We’re all business today aren’t we, Harley?” he glanced at her but quickly looked away, and began moving his lips. He pressed them together and made popping noises, the way people do when they’re trying to annoy someone, but she realized he was really just trying to get her to notice his mouth.

“Oh, I see.” Normally, she’d put his lipstick on him without him having to ask, but she’d been so focused today she’d forgotten. Without a word she got up and rubbed a little on his lips, more sloppily than she normally did, but only because she couldn’t bear to be so close to him.

“Thank you.” He mumbled as she walked back to her chair. He was clearly unhappy with her, though he tried to appear otherwise.

“Now then, Mr. Joker, let’s begin.”

“No ‘how are you?’” he looked at her now, unhappy but amused. “No ‘how are you feeling’?”

“Not today, Mr. Joker. Why, is there something you’d like to talk about?”

“Not particularly. You?”

“Yes actually,” she began confidently. “What made Batman break your teeth like that?” She braced herself for an outburst- she expected him to scream at her or yell, at the very least become aggressively silent. But instead, he laughed in her face. It was a genuine laugh, not sarcastic or mocking. He was truly laughing; she could tell by the way he threw his head back. The sound was hearty and loud, it’s deepness seemed to shake the whole room.

“I killed his pet, Harley.” He finally answered her after what seemed like hours of laughter. “His pretty little bird boy. I bashed his brains in and ol’ Batsy didn’t like that.

“What made you do that?” she questioned, glancing down at her clipboard in the hopes that he couldn’t read her facial expressions. If he had, he would have seen her wince ever so slightly, and press her lips together so that she didn’t look as torn as she felt. Perhaps hearing about his having killed someone shouldn’t have surprised her given his history and who she was- or rather who people thought he was; but between Dr. Arkham’s warnings and hearing him admit to something so terrible, it was becoming increasing difficult for her to believe in the abused and harmless victim of a man she had come to know and adore. His mercilessly killing Batman’s side kick was a harsh reality to face, and difficult to reconcile with the idea she’d had in her mind on how Batman had come to mutilate Joker’s mouth. She waited for him to answer, half hoping Robin had been the aggressor, though she knew it was unlikely. His smile fell away and was quickly replaced with a menacing mix of indifference and rage she’d ever seen. His striking blue eyes, normal light and twinkling mischievously darkened, as he stared at her with an intensity she hadn’t yet fallen victim to. Still, she noted, there was light amusement in his voice as he spoke.

“Because I wanted to.” He stretched out the last syllable for a while, keeping his lips puckered in an “o” shape for a few moments. “That’s how me and Batman play, sometimes people get hurt.” His cold, casual tone sent chills down her spine, but really broke her heart more than anything. He doesn’t mean this, he doesn’t mean any of it, she tried to convince herself.

“But why?” she pressed harder, sounding more desperate than she had intended to.

“It was fun.”

“You don’t mean that.” No, you don’t _want_ him to mean that, she scolded herself. But she quieted the voice inside her head and continued on. “There must be some deeper reason than “just for fun.”

“Boredom then.” He snapped, suddenly defensive at having his villainous character called into question. Any other day, a quick outburst like that would have been enough for Harleen to switch the subject so as not to upset him, but given the day’s circumstances she was almost glad to see she had hit a nerve; to her it was an indicator that he was in fact capable of the very feelings Dr. Arkham had said he wasn’t, all he had to do was let her in and she could fix him. You can fix him, she repeated to herself, he’s still a man deep down.

“How did you feel when you-killed him? What made it fun?”

“It’s always fun to take the other kid’s favorite toy,” he answered her like it was the most obvious thing in the world and she was stupid for asking.

“You killed him because…he was something Batman loved?” her voice cracked a little on the last word, but she couldn’t be bothered to care. Another crack made its way into her heart at having to say those words, and she waited for his answer hoping that he would disagree but knowing all too well that he wouldn’t.

“Uh huh.” He stated simply.

“Are you afraid he’ll return the favor? That he’ll take away something you love?” She was nervous for his answer, but half hopeful too that he may admit to some sort of affection towards someone- though preferably her- just to know that he was capable of it. At that, a smile made its way back across his lips. He tilted his head slightly to one side and stared at her, as if he was aware of the deeper meaning behind the question.

“He bashed my pretty little face in didn’t he? He took away my smile.”

“I mean a person.” Subtle Harleen, real subtle. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear at a pathetic attempt to appear indifferent and disconnected the way a more capable therapist might be but in the end it really only made her look like a lovesick teenage girl in high school asking a football player if he liked her back.

“Why would a person ever mean that much to me?” he asked. He pretended to be confused, almost innocent in his question but she knew he must have known just how cruel he was being.

“No one? No one you like, who you care about? Not a single soul who’s at least a little bit important to you?” she leaned in, desperate for an answer that would make her feel at least a little bit better.

“Nope,” he popped the “p” more aggressive than was necessary. “I don’t think I have or would ever want a person who could be that important to me, Dr. Quinzel. “

And with that, she was crushed. He could tell too, she knew it, which made his faux display of innocent indifference hurt more. Neither of them spoke for a while. Joker hummed a little and looked around the room, never keeping his eyes somewhere for too long; Harleen could only sit and mull things over for a while, so that’s what she did. She wasn’t going to be upset though, she decided quickly, she wouldn’t be the heartbroken weak little girl she felt like inside, at least not here. When she went home, sure, she’d cry and drink wine and she would let herself be depressed that the psycho-murder clown she had fallen for was incapable of returning the sentiment, and she would let herself be ashamed that she had ever thought otherwise. But now, she would not let him see that he had cut her so close to her core. No, instead she would let the rage and frustration she felt take center stage. After she felt she had sufficiently recovered, she straightened herself in her chair and watched him, briefly considering the idea of ending the session right then and there but decided against it.

“I gotta say, Doc, I’m a little over all this seriousness- the psychobabble nonsense,” he finally broke the silence once he sensed she was about to start up again. “I don’t like these kinds of questions.”

“Well Mr. Joker, I am your psychiatrist. I’m supposed to be asking these types of questions,” she countered.

“Harley dear, is something the matter? You seem angry,” he glanced at her hand which had begun aggressively clicking on her pen cap.

“I’m fine. We’re supposed to talk about you,” she slammed the pen down beside her and folded her hands in front of her.

“I don’t think I want to talk to you when you’re like this,” he pretended to be offended as he dramatically turned his head away from her. The sudden change of position loosened a piece of his green hair and she watched as it fell delicately in front of his face. She longed to brush the piece away for her, despite the fact that he looked rather precious with that one floppy piece of hair dangling so freely; it brought out a boyish charm in his that was so endearing to her. But she held her ground, holding on to her rage.

“Well too bad, you don’t have a choice.” She snapped. “Now let’s talk about your obvious, almost inhuman lack of ability to connect with anyone or anything on a deeper emotional level.”

“Oh Harley!” His eyes widened in mock surprise, “Is that what’s bothering you? Have I hurt your feelings?” He puckered his lips into a pout and eyed her carefully.

“As your psychiatrist,” she began trying to keep control of the session as well as her own emotions, “That sort of thinking is of particular interest to me.”

“Oh alright, Doctor, I see. It’s of no consequence to me really, but if it’ll make you feel better go ahead and try to make sense of this brain of mine. Give it to me straight, what’s wrong with me, huh?” He wasn’t speaking in his normal voice, instead he used a pretend and exaggerated sort of worried voice, mocking her and her reaction to his emotional disturbance. It didn’t hurt Harleen’s feelings though, it only made her more irritable.

“I think you’re a pussy.” She startled Joker and herself with her language, but kept her eyes down and fiddled with her clipboard so she would appear unbothered. “It’s not that you can’t love or care about anyone or anything, but that’s what you want people to believe. I think the truth is you’re afraid to let anyone in, you’re scared. That’s the real reason behind everything you do,” she watched as Joker’s expression switched from amusement to annoyance, but she kept going. “The reason no one knows your name, who you before you were all of this. It’s not because you’re trying to be mysterious or menacing, it’s because you’re too scared to face your past, too afraid who you were or what you left behind. How’s that for psychobabble?” Her harsh analysis left both of them speechless, and the long rush of words left Harleen especially breathless. It was a cathartic, at least to begin with, getting all of that out in the open. For the briefest of moments, she felt almost normal- pre Joker normal. She was clear headed and calm, that aching pull she had felt for weeks on end now had dulled to nonexistence and felt alright for a while. In fact, she was quite pleased with herself, at least until she looked up and made eye contact with him again.

The pained, almost desperate expression his face made her instantly regret everything she had said; his eyes, still on hers, darkened again but not in anger. His breathing was suddenly heavy, almost as if he were hyperventilating though she was sure he could breathe perfectly fine, and the shallow breaths moved his chest in a way that seemed almost unnatural underneath the straightjacket. She wanted to apologize, but found herself too ashamed to actually speak the words, too embarrassed to say anything to him.

“The session is over,” was all she managed to get out as she rushed past him towards the door. As she slammed the door behind her, she was suddenly overcome with all of the emotions and feelings she had felt for him the past few weeks that had seemed to disappear after her outburst. The orderlies, clearly confused by the shortness of the session, looked awkwardly at her, probably expecting her to say something but she couldn’t bring herself to speak.

“Um, Dr. Quinzel, ma’am?” one of them cautiously approached her. “Is something the matter? Did the patient do something or-”

“No, I’ve just ended the session for the day,” she answered softly. “You can take him back to his cell,” she told them as she moved to leave.

“You aren’t going to take him back with us?”

“No, not today.”

She walked back to her office and grabbed her things quickly, wanting to get as far away from Arkham Asylum as she could. The work day wasn’t over yet, but she didn’t care- even having to sit in her office alone for a few hours, knowing what she had done to him and knowing he just downstairs would be too much for her. After she had collected her things, she made her way back to Dr. Arkham’s office, too much of an emotional wreck to feel embarrassed.

“Dr. Arkham?” she opened his door without knocking or announcing herself, “I think I’d like that break now.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can, a comment and some input would be greatly appreciated! Hope you enjoyed xoxo

Harleen was embarrassed. Heartbroken, actually, after her last session with the Joker. She had managed to compose herself, at least a little bit, when she had asked Dr. Arkham for a few days off. He was more than happy to oblige, in fact he was nothing by kind and seemed almost relieved that she had asked. Though she said she only needed a few days- maybe a week at the most- he insisted she take a full two-week vacation. She accepted his offer and was thankful, but assured him that she would be back as sooner than that. As soon as she felt better, as soon as she recovered, she promised Dr. Arkham and herself, she would put on her big girl pants and go back to him. It would be hard, that she knew, but it would be harder and more hurtful to quit him entirely. And so she walked out of Arkham Asylum with every intention of taking two days off, three at the most; just enough to clear her head. She had hoped that Arkham was right and some time away would help to clear her head, alleviate the agonizing pain she had felt for so long. She didn’t want the feelings to go away completely and she didn’t think that they would; though she felt her love for her patient may be a little inappropriate she would never dream of not loving him. She just wanted it to hurt less. She just needed a few days.

She hadn’t planned on taking more than a few days.

The first week had passed quickly and after it was over she had felt a little better, clearer. She wasn’t happy of course, she was sad to be separated from the Joker, but a part of her was enjoying the time to herself. In the beginning she didn’t think too much about him though, apart from missing him. She spent her days lounging around her apartment, reading some, drinking some. She sorted through her feelings towards the Joker a lot, dissecting them carefully with her own psychobabble. She loved him, that she was sure. She couldn’t speak for him of course, but she believed there was something there. Perhaps Dr. Arkham had hoped this time off would help her realize what he thought was the truth- she was merely a victim of some masterful manipulation- and she had considered that. But she knew it was deeper than that. Thinking about their relationship so much made her miss him terribly, but she still wasn’t ready to face him. Heartbreak had given way to fear and embarrassment; she wasn’t ready to face the pain she was sure she had caused him; she wasn’t ready to see him angry at her. It would be harder to face him the longer she was away, she knew that. After the first week she decided she would at least call the Asylum, just to see how he was doing. She figured that they would call her of course if anything bad had happened, but she thought there could be no harm in checking in. She still missed him after all, and she wanted to make sure he was okay. Even if she wasn’t ready to face him just yet, she wanted confirmation that he was alive and well (as much as a person in his situation could be). Hesitant but eager, she dialed Dr. Arkham’s office.

“Hello, Dr. Jeremiah Arkham speaking”

“Hello sir, it’s Harleen Quinzel.”

“Oh, hello Doctor. I didn’t expect to hear from you…um are you coming back?” he sounded worried, more worried than he had before but she had come to expect a certain amount of concern from him at this point.

“Oh no, don’t worry I think I’ll take your advice.” She though she heard Arkham stifle a sigh. “I just wanted to see if Mr. Jo-er, um if my patient was doing alright. That is to say um- if there are any behaviors I should be aware of…for my reports’ sake.” There was an awkward pause, like Dr. Arkham didn’t know how to answer. Harleen thought maybe he was suspicious of her reason for calling so after a few moments she spoke again, “I’m sure he hasn’t done anything, but…” she let herself trail off, unsure of the best way to end the sentence. Luckily, Dr. Arkham finally spoke.

“Actually Harleen- I don’t exactly know how to say this but-“his hesitation put her on edge again. He sighed before continuing, “Doctor, the Joker has been an absolute madman.”

Harleen wanted to let out an incredulous laugh, but she knew it would be inappropriate. But if she was being honest, it was a little funny, at the very least it was ridiculous. Dr. Arkham, the man who had told Harleen time and time again that the Joker was a maniac- a manipulate terror of a man- sounding so confused and almost shocked at his being insane, was incredibly amusing.

“Well sir, isn’t that sort of his thing…?” she tried to be respectful, answering tentatively. What she really wanted to ask was a rhetorical _what else is new?_

“No- I mean- yes, but Dr. Quinzel this is different. Don’t get me wrong, the Joker has never been a model patient, but his behavior this past week has been bad even for him.”

“What’s he done?” Now she was concerned.

“To tell the truth Doctor, I’m glad you called. As selfish and unfair as it is, I was considering calling you myself,” he was avoiding the question; it didn’t take a genius to tell that was a bad sign.

“Sir, what has he done?”

“If you don’t mind Harleen, I think it’s better if you just come in?”

* * *

 

Harleen rushed out the door glasses on top of her bun-topped head, throwing her lab coat unceremoniously on top of her jeans and oversized sweater. Considering the circumstances, she didn’t think Dr. Arkham would mind her casual attire and if he did she wouldn’t have cared anyways. Her heart raced as she broke several of Gotham’s traffic laws on her way to the asylum, her mind imagining all kinds of things he could have done or been doing to warrant Dr. Arkham’s worried tone. She hoped that Joker hadn’t hurt anyone- at least not severely- but more than that she had hoped he was okay. Anxiety washed over her as she thought of her poor little clown man and the kinds of trouble he could have gotten himself into. She was worried for the staff of course, she hoped no one was hurt, but she knew the panic she felt was more than that.

He’s fine, she tried to tell herself as she rushed into the asylum and rushed to Dr. Arkham’s office. He’s probably okay and all of his fuss is for nothing. She didn’t bother knocking like she normally would have, instead opting for a quick “it’s me” before entering. She was confused when she saw two orderlies, dressed in what suddenly to her seemed to be the harshest shade of white, standing in front of Dr. Arkham’s desk. She stood behind them awkwardly for a moment, trying her hardest to mask her confusion. The three men mumbled quietly for a while before the two in white turned to leave. They stared at Harleen before making their way to the door; she couldn’t read the expression on either of their faces, and she didn’t have the time as they left quickly and rather gruffly before she had the chance to analyze their faces properly. But, something told her whatever they had been called in for had to do with her patient- and it made her feel uneasy, almost nauseous. She waited anxiously for Dr. Arkham to acknowledge her presence, but he didn’t say anything until the orderlies had long left the office.

“Sorry about that, Dr. Quinzel, please have a seat. I can’t apologize enough for having to cut your break short like this,”

“It’s alright, sir.” Harleen sat across from him the same way she had so often since her few short weeks at Arkham Asylum, eyeing him carefully as she pulled her glances down onto her face. He looked exhausted and stressed, but more than that he looked annoyed. “Is everything alright sir?” Dumb question, stupid question, she scolded herself. “I mean-something must have happened but…is _he_ okay? What’s he done?” The words fumbled out of her mouth awkwardly as she struggled to choose the right words. She tried to sound emotionally disconnected from the situation, the way a psychiatrist should; but in the end she sounded more like a concerned mother seeing her child’s principle about some minor misbehavior.

“Normally, before you began his therapy, the Joker normally kept to himself. He never cooperated with the staff mind you, so no one ever dealt with him much.” Harleen tapped her foot nervously, glad she wasn’t wearing heels today so that Arkham couldn’t hear the anxious movement. Why was he telling me this now? She’d heard this before, when she first started working with him. “To be honest, all the staff here can hope to do is maximize the amount of time between his inevitable escapes and hope that when he does break out…”

“That as few people get hurt as possible?” she finished for him bluntly. He only nodded uncomfortably before continuing.

“He’s never acted out for the sake of it. Anything he’s done has always been in response to a therapist or a staff member. But- last week- there’s no other way to say it he was an absolute nightmare.”

“Has he- he didn’t hurt anyone did he?” She pretended, perhaps unconvincingly, that she was worried about the staff, but to be honest should couldn’t care less. She was more worried about Joker, more importantly what the staff could have done to him. She’d watched many an orderly be unnecessarily rough with patients, using them as their own personal punching bags to take out their own aggressions and anger on. It’s why she had normally been so insistent on watching them with Joker- he’d done so much damage in Gotham on a regular basis she was sure some of the staff had some personal vendettas against him and she didn’t want to give them a chance to act on them. She’d felt incredibly guilty for leaving him on their last session to be moved by those two men without her, and she scolded herself for it again as she waited for Jeremiah to answer.

“The day after your exit, around ten in the morning, he was just pacing, nothing too unusual. We were keeping an eye on him, you see, on the security cameras, just to monitor him until you returned.  After a few hours he began…laughing, then yelling. Still nothing too terrible, but eventually the staff had to respond, and well- that went about as well as you can expect. We left him alone for the next couple days, but the behavior only escalated. Eventually, we needed to chain him to his cell wall, and-“ he was really drawing out this answer, Harleen thought bitterly.

“He was less than cooperative?”

“To say the least. He broke a man’s hand, cracked another’s ribs. We couldn’t even get him into a straight-jacket properly. We tried to put him in solitary but even in chains he was too much trouble.” So far, there was nothing that alarming, at least to Harleen.

“Sir, what did he do?”

“Harleen…” Crap, he used her first name. This must be bad, even for Joker. She hoped he hadn’t hurt himself, that the staff hadn’t hurt him too badly. She was already angry that they had chained him, she imagined how uncomfortable he must have felt being in it for so long, unable to walk or move; but she was glad they hadn’t put him in solitary, she knew he would hate that so much. “We sent down another…female doctor. I thought perhaps your gentle approach might help him become more manageable. And it worked, for a while…”

“Doctor, please. Just give it ta me straight huh? I can’t take it.” If Dr. Arkham heard her accent slip, he didn’t show it, but even if he had she wouldn’t have cared in that moment. Her worry subsided and quickly turned to anger- pure jealousy if she was being honest with herself- at the mere thought of another woman being anywhere near him. It didn’t matter than the hospital had sent her, even though she tried to focus on that. It felt like a betrayal and worse, one that she deserved and had brought onto herself for being so cruel to him. You did this, you deserve this, she thought; of course he hates you. No worse, he’s forgotten all about you. She felt the warm tingling of tears at the corners of her eyes but tried her hardest to keep them inside.

“He snapped her neck.”

Harleen could hear Dr. Arkham’s voice after that- she could tell he was speaking at least. But she had stopped listening after that. Her eyes had dropped down and she had brought a hand up to cover her mouth, hoping to conceal her own feelings. To anyone else, she probably seemed to be upset- confused and guilty that her patient had done something so horrible in her absence; some might even expect her to feel responsible.

But the truth of the matter is, she was relieved. She felt the way she imagined women felt when they’d had arguments with boyfriends and found out that they’d still stayed faithful. He missed me, she thought, her soft smile covered by her hand.

“Harleen, honey?” Her eyes snapped up to meet his. His voice was gentle, his eyes kind. He felt bad, sympathized with Harleen for inner turmoil she simply wasn’t experiencing. “I want you to know that this isn’t your fault. You must not blame yourself.”

“Where is he now?” she tried to express the appropriate amount of distress.

“In his cell. Before you called he was- uncooperative, even after they managed to secure him in a straightjacket. I was hoping you would be able to calm him down a bit- that’s why I asked you to come so quickly. But- they’ve sedated him now.”

“I need to see him.” She bolted from her seat so quickly Arkham was unable to hide his surprise. But she couldn’t sit there and listen to another minute of this lecture; thinking about her poor green haired angel down there all alone, in one of those uncomfortable jackets- and worse drugged up on god knows what. She was sure now more than ever that some of the staff must have taken out some kind of revenge; she shuddered as she imagined the white clad brutes beating him.

“No one’s forcing you to, Harleen. If you don’t feel safe-“

“He won’t hurt me,” she said even though she suspected Dr. Arkham knew as much.

* * *

 

When she had reached Joker’s cell, she was greeted by two orderlies, one on either side. They were mumbling to each other, the worst kind of smirks on their faces. She glared at them before her eyes eager searched for him. The harsh fluorescent lights were turned all the way up, so much so they were painful to look at. It was easier to find him though, with the lights on. And we she saw him she could hardly hold in her gasp.

His green hair, which he had normally been able to keep so tidy despite his being locked up, fell messily in his face. His lips were pale and dry and he was slumped over, leaning lazily in a corner and though he mustn’t have been comfortable, between his position, the straightjacket and the bright lights, his eyes were shut tight and he appeared to be sleeping. The poor man must be exhausted, she thought, after all he’s been through. And all because of her. She wanted him to sleep, if only because he looked so peaceful in that moment; but she wished he would open his eyes for just a minute, just so he could see that she was there for him. The orderlies side-eyed her as she watched him and she could feel their judgement, but that’s not ultimately why she decided to leave. She would let him sleep, she decided. She would wait in her office, maybe watch him from the security camera, and run down to him the second he was awake.

“I’ll be back Mr. Joker, I promise.” She spoke just above a whisper but the orderlies rolled their eyes when they heard her. She shot them dirty glances, before turning to leave.

Whether it was the soft sound of her voice or the gentle tapping of her shoes- or he had just sensed her- just as she had turned to leave, Joker seemed to suddenly have been alerted to her presence and his neck snapped up quickly. She caught the movement out of the corner of her eyes and immediately stopped in her tracks, turning her head to meet him. She smiled softly to him, the same way she had all those weeks ago when they had met eyes for the first time, but when he didn’t return the favor she almost burst into tears.

“Harley old girl, long time no see.” His voice was weak, void of any kind of emotion in the most terrifying way. He wasn’t angry, at least not yet. But he was hurting. He maintained eye contact with her for a few minutes, but his exhaustion overtook him and as quickly as he had woken he was out again. His sudden loss of consciousness had disturbed his body’s balance and within a second he had fallen to one side, and laid there crumbled and cold on the card cement floor. It broke her heart into a thousand pieces.

Without another word she made her way over to the side of his cell, identification card in hand to enter.

“No no, hold up there miss, you can’t go in there. It ain’t safe.” One of the orderlies barked at her as the two of them moved towards her.

“He’s my patient, I can do what I like,” she snapped back. “Besides, Dr. Arkham requested I check on him. I can’t very well do that outside the cell.” They argued with her for a few more moments before she harshly told them to leave, and they obliged, not necessarily because they trust her; in fact she suspected the only reasons they agreed to leave her alone with Joker was because they half hoped he would snap her neck too.  Once their aggressive footsteps had faded completely, she swiped her card and rushed inside the cell.

Without hesitating or giving thought to the security camera’s she knew were watching them, she hurried over to him, lifting him into a more comfortable position, propped up against the wall, before sitting as close to him as she could. She’d never been so close to him, she realized, and definitely not like this. Weeks ago this kind of prolonged contact would have made her nervous, she would have struggled against her desire to touch and be closer to him, but she was content not to fight it now. She turned to face him a little more, lifting her hand to gently stroke his face, inspecting it for bruises and cuts; she mumbled angrily to herself when she found them, cursing the guards under her breath. She reminded herself to keep her voice low though, as she watched his chest fall and rise lightly under the restraints. Poor thing, what did they give you? Still, she supposed he might be at least a little grateful for the sleep, it seemed like he never got much anyways. And she would be content to just watch him, even if he didn’t wake up or talk for hours. She felt she owed him that; she’d be gone for so long, and the last time she had been there she was so awful to him she felt like she was making up for lost time. It’s alright, she thought to herself. I’ll stay here in the silence, as long as I have to. And she truly would have, had he not woken after a few minutes.

He looked more like a man than she had ever seen him before, in those few moments when he had just woken. His blue eyes squinted against the harsh fluorescents and his face contorted into the kind of boyish sleepiness that would make any woman’s heart melt. In that moment, he was man, and though she was aware that he was more than that, for the time being she allowed herself to enjoy the simplicity and the purity of his restricted movements, imagining an alternate world where he was cured and they were as normal as anyone else and she could watch him wake up like this every morning. Once he had fully woken up, his eyes found hers quickly.

“Hi, Doctor. How sweet of you to drop in.”

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. His smirk fell quickly, suddenly uncomfortable with the heartfelt apology. “I’m so sorry. For what they did to you, for what _I_ did to you. I didn’t mean any of it.”

“Let’s not talk about it.” He didn’t say it in the sweet teasing way people normally did when they brushed off apologies like that. Instead it was a warning; he did not want it mentioned again.

“That’s fine,” she agreed quickly, anxious to forget the whole thing herself. “Can I do anything for you? Are you comfortable?” Of course you’re not, she thought, you’re drugged and restrained.

“I’m much better now.” He flashed a smile her way and she couldn’t help but smile right back, despite her being so upset a few moments ago. “This thing though,” his arms flailed slightly against the straightjacket. “It’s murder.” She winced slightly at his choice of words, given his most recent altercation but she let it go.

“I know, those things are so uncomfortable.”

“Practically torture. Would you mind giving a poor fool a little relief?”

“Oh Mr. Joker, you know I can’t. They’re watching-“ she glanced up towards the cameras cautiously. “They don’t even want me in here to begin with.”

“I see…” he grumbled, dissatisfied.

“I can take the chains off though!” she added quickly, not wanting to see him upset. She sat up and made her way towards his legs, unlocking the ankle restraints so he was free to move the lower part of his body.

That seemed to please him, as he left out a happy sigh and quickly attempted to move straighten himself up into a more comfortable position. But because of the limited mobility of his upper body and the muscle weakness and aching from his heavy sedation, he toppled over and fell hard on the concrete floor.

“Oh!” Harleen gasped as she hurried over to him. She lifted his limp body up and leaned him against the wall again before sitting down next to him, but he fell over again, this time landing on her lap. She tensed at first, thinking of how she should straighten him up but he seemed to make himself comfortable so she couldn’t bear to. His body relaxed against hers and moved his head so that he was staring up at the ceiling.

“That’s better,” he mumbled softly with his eyes closed. His hair had flopped back in the front of his face and he tried for a while to blow it out of his face before Harleen finally took pity on him. Laughing lightly, she took her hand and gently brushed the offending hair out of his way, and absentmindedly began stroking his hair with her finger tips. “That’s _much_ better,” he added, sighing deeply. In the quiet Harleen could have sworn he was purring, and the sound was incredibly pleasing to her.

“I’ll be sure to get you something for those scratches tomorrow,” she glanced back down and his face. “Maybe something for the pain and bruises too.”

“Tomorrow? You mean you’re still mine?” Her heart leapt at his words, though she understood his intended meaning.

“As long as you want me.”

“I do.”

They were silent again, and Joker appeared to have fallen back to sleep. She took the opportunity to inspect his wounds again, fretting at the staff imposed injuries. She’d file a complaint, she told herself. She didn’t know who had done this to him, but she would make sure they were punished for it. She was thinking about which of the men in white might be responsible, when he woke again.

“Why’d you stop?”

“Huh? Oh!” she said once she realized her hand in its journey to his face had stopped stroking his hair. “I’m sorry,” she started up again.

“I think the bruises bother you more than they bother me.”

“I think so too.”

“Why is that?”

“I hate to see you hurt,” she answered honestly. No point in lying or pretending to be emotionally removed now. “It hurts me.”

“Aw, Harley, you want to kiss all my boo boo’s and make it better?” he teased in a mock baby voice.

“Hey, I just might do it,” she teased back, but a little defensively. Didn’t he want her to kiss him as much as she wanted to kiss him?

“Well, Doctor, if you think it’ll help.” He shut his eyes and straightened his neck just the slightest bit.

Harleen only hesitated a moment or two before leaning down and pressing her lips gently on the largest of the bruises, right on his cheek, keeping her lips there far longer than was necessary. As she finally managed to pull herself away, his eyes flew open, stopping her dead in her tracks. Unashamed now, her eyes darted back and forth between his eyes and his lips, as if asking for permission to press them against her own. Without breaking eye contact, and without either of them speaking, he puckered his lips, ever so slightly, and she eagerly but softly kissed his lips. It was intimate, but terribly innocent; no more than a peck, really. But Harleen still felt it throughout her entire body, her very being tingling immediately after. She raised her hand to her lips for a moment, but made sure to return it swiftly back to Joker’s head for stroking.

“Hey Harley?”

“Yes, Mr. Joker?”

“Do you wanna know who I used to be?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, this is a just a little thing I thought I would try; It's from Js perspective and I'm not comfortable writing that way, but I thought I'd give it a try and maybe someone might like to read it. Some feedback on this chapter or really the story as a whole would be greatly appreciated- it means a lot when someone takes the time to say something.

Harleen Quinzel…Harley Quinn…Harlequin; the name ran on repeat in the clown prince of crime’s thoughts as the orderlies entered the session room and roughly strapped him in for transport. They always restrained him so tightly, like that would really do them any good. The idiots were never quick enough- they always left his hands free for a few seconds and he could’ve done some real damage if he wanted to. But he always let them buckle him in and roll him back to his cell anyways. If he didn’t, his little Harlequin would probably have to go away and he was really having a good time playing his games with her, she was making Arkham Asylum less boring, and he did get bored so easily. In fact, playing with his little Harlequin had become so much fun he wasn’t in as much of a hurry to leave as he had been before- and in the weeks he’d been in here this time he could have been out ten times over.

He was never in Arkham long, he always got out and usually quickly, so quickly that even that became boring after a while. Each time he’d escaped, he tried to make it fun, make it a game. Sometimes he blew out a wall or started a prison riot; sometimes he’d have Frost and his goons for hire break him out or sometimes he preferred to do it on his own. He hadn’t decided how he would bust out this time around, but when he’d seen that perky little blonde, inspiration had struck him right there. She was the perfect pretty little toy to play with and he knew he’d have a great time poking and prodding her brain, twisting and bending everything all up inside. He’d paid off guards to break him out before, but those morons never were that much of a challenge- throw a couple bucks their way and they do anything you ask. How boring.

But a Doctor, now that would be fun. And with a name like Harleen Quinzel it almost seemed like it was meant to be.

He hadn’t expected it be _so_ much though. It was easier than he had expected it be though- at first he had been disappointed by how easily she bent to his will, how easily she was able to sympathize with him. It was almost too easy, and he worried he’d become bored again too quickly. But much to his surprise she was more fun than he’d ever thought possible, despite the lack of challenge. It was a nice change of pace from the game he’d had going with his other playmate.

 The circular, back and forth little game he and the Bat had fallen into was becoming less and less fun, and Joker couldn’t have that. He had to come up with new ways to shake things up a little bit- new and creative ways to piss the Bat off, but the Bat never had any new or creative ways to get back at him. Until he had knocked his teeth out, Joker had laughed so hard when it happened- it was the most fun he’d been able to have with Batsy for some time. All of that fuss over a bird. What a hoot.

Harley hadn’t found it as funny as he did though. If I were a different kind of man, he thought, I might have been disappointed by that. In fact, for the whole session she’d been acting strange, cold- not at all like the little Harlequin he had been playing with these past few weeks. He found himself irritated by her shift in mood; he told himself it was because of the small setback this would cause in his escape plan. At first he thought she’d been playing a joke on him- Harley Quinn pretending to be the dutiful doctor he knew she never could be (and he knew she didn’t want to anyhow). But then then the joke went on too long- and he still wasn’t laughing.

He answered her questions one word at a time, observing her more closely now, trying to figure out what was wrong with her. Not that he cared, of course, he mood and her feelings didn’t matter to him. But he was curious now, and after all if he was going to break his little toy he was going to have to understand how she worked.

He thought he had figured it out though, right from the beginning. He knew right away from the way she looked at him, the gentle way she spoke to him and the lack of real effort it took for him to convince her to do things for him that she’d had some affection for it. It would have been sweet if it hadn’t been so pathetic. But, it made the game more fun- no more than that, it made it a challenge. When he first realized that Harleen Quinzel might love him, he thought perhaps he had made a mistake- emotions were, for lack of a better word difficult for him and he tended to avoid them all together. But to his surprise, he’d been having fun- more fun than he’d had in some time- with, or maybe because of these feelings. He avoided emotions all together because they confused him and just didn’t seem to get along well with his own irrational and random joke of an existence. An outsider might have noticed that the very things he had despised about emotional connections- their unpredictability, the pain they caused and the destruction they left in their wake- were far from unfamiliar to the clown prince of crime.

 He could have left a while ago, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to keep playing. That must be why he was so angry, he thought once he had gotten back to his cell, when she had slammed the door behind her and left him alone with the orderlies. She’d always walked back with him before; she’d told him she would never dream of leaving him alone with them, that she didn’t want them to hurt him. Stupid girl, worrying about him so. The two white clad morons couldn’t hurt him, and if they tried he wouldn’t have felt it anyway.

It was fine, he thought bitterly. The game was over; he’d fine another one to play once he got out of this shit hole. He’d get out of Arkham the way he always would, it wouldn’t be a problem.

 And when he did, he would find and kill Doctor Quinzel.

But the thought didn’t thrill him the way he thought it would. For once in his life, the idea of a mindless murder of an innocent just didn’t appeal to him. But then again his Harlequin was no innocent- that they both knew.

Maybe I better wait a little while, he told himself as he sat stubbornly in his cell. She’ll be back, he told himself, because she is weak and allows her affection for me to cloud her mind. No matter how angry she thinks she is, she’ll be back and then we get on as we were.

He pictured her face as she asked him whether or not he’d ever had someone that he cared for. Between her clenched jaw and tense posture, poor Harley had been trying her hardest to appear strong, but her voice and pleading eyes betrayed her in that moment, both so desperate for an answer he knew she knew he wouldn’t be able to give. Still, her eyes in that moment made him feel something he simply didn’t have the ability to recognize quite yet. But in that moment he had known that he did not like that feeling; he needed to do something cruel, and quickly, just to shake off the uncomfortable feeling, and so he had answered sarcastically, just to torture her. It didn’t make him feel any better, though, he realized. But still, his assumption that she’d be back the next day was enough for now.

The next day when Harley didn’t show, Joker didn’t know what to do with himself. He waited, first patiently, for the soft clicking of her heels to come down the hallway. But he didn’t hear them. He paced around his cell, neurotic and nervous, growing more and more irritable with each step. At some point, he’d come to terms with the fact that he would not see her that day. And when she didn’t come the next day, he thought he might never see her again, that she might never come back and she might refuse to treat him, to see him.

That’s when he started laughing.

Sometimes the Joker laughed because things were funny, but sometimes he laughed to drown out thoughts that he would rather not have. And it worked, for a while.

He couldn’t hear the thoughts, that quiet little voice inside his head that might have figured out what exactly what happening if he’d given it half a chance. But he could still _feel_. That was the real problem. A more normal man may have more easily recognized that tugging on the heart strings as the beginnings of some sort of affection- maybe not love, but definitely an attachment. Eventually Joker came to this very conclusion, all on his own in fact, after spending the rest of the day pacing aggressively back and forth, while cackling wildly to himself. He got tired of moving after a while, and so he laid himself down on the middle of the concrete floor and stared at the ceiling. The lack of stimulation was maddening now. How inconvenient, how odd, he thought bitterly to himself. His stints in Arkham were never a pleasure, but he was usually able to handle the boredom. It had never bothered him much before, to sit alone in a cell like this. But then Harley had come and spoiled everything, spoiled _him_. He’d gotten so used to talking and being out of the cage, so used to _her_. The Joker was not dumb man, not by a long shot. Insane, of course, but still highly intelligent- aware of a lot more than most people ever gave a madman credit for. Yes, by day three he’d become almost painfully aware of the reason why Arkham was suddenly so boring and lonely, and why his chest tugged ever so slightly despite the lack of restraints. He knew he…missed her now, Doctor Quinzel. He missed her and he was growing more and more furious about it with each hour that passed. He was angry with her for having made him feel this way, but he still missed her. And because he missed her, despite his best efforts to not, he did not want to kill her. He was angrier with himself for having been capable of this feeling thing in the first place. He hated the fact that he missed her and that craved her.

The first week had ended slowly; he’d been laughing and pacing, screaming at any orderlies they sent to try to quiet him. At first they didn’t come into his cell, and he knew they weren’t going to let him out so there was really no other way to entertain himself other than that. So he created chaos as best as he could behind bulletproof glass, disrupting as much as his confinement would allow. Even behind glass he was able to disturb the relative peace of the Asylum, and if he weren’t so bothered it might have amused him more. The more he thought about Harley, the louder he laughed and screamed so that he wouldn’t have to hear them. The orderlies kept running down to him with empty threats and he screamed and cursed at them, asked their names and told them he’d kill their whole families when he got out (and he would); they knew they couldn’t control him, but they still tried at least every thirty minutes or so. He didn’t mind, it gave him a distraction at least for a minute or two. So disruptive was he, he forced a more physical response. Two men marched in aggressively, gave him a few warnings before tackling him to the ground and chaining him to the wall. It wasn’t accomplished without a fight though, and Joker was glad for the eventfulness. Despite the restraints he put up a good enough fight, in fact he was sure he’d broken a few bones. But then they left and he was chained to a wall and bored again. He knew they wouldn’t be back.

Great, Joker thought bitterly. Now there was _really_ nothing to do, nothing to distract him. His laughter turned to growls and his anger rose up all over again as he let himself think about Harley again. Movement still restricted by the chains, he managed to get himself into the corner of the cell that was farthest from where she would normally walk in, palms pressed against the glass and eyes shut and head pointed downward. He was quiet now, except for his abnormally heavy breathing. An outsider might have seen him and thought he was waiting for someone; impatiently sure, and angrily. But still, whether he had meant to put himself in the same position and place he had normally waited for her, whether he had been aware of it himself, he was waiting for his Harlequin.

His eyes were closed but they snapped open when he heard the soft clicking of heels come down the hallway. Though he was still angry with her (and his own damned weakness), he smiled in spite of it all. He didn’t look towards her yet, he would wait until she was a good little girl again and said she was sorry and waited for him to forgive her; she hated when he was angry with her, the pair had both discovered that early on. He smirked as the clicking grew louder and turned to a full on smile, hidden to the woman who watched him. She didn’t say anything right away. The poor little fool is probably too afraid, he thought. He pretended that he hadn’t been afraid too, convinced himself in the moment that he’d always been confident in her return.

“Good afternoon, sir.” A voice that sounded vaguely like his Harley but most certainly was not said. His neck snapped up immediately, his scanning the imposter who stood before him. She looked the way someone who had never seen Doctor Quinzel and only had heard descriptions of her might have imagined her to look; she was blonde and young, attractive by most standards. But she wasn’t real, she wasn’t his. If the imposter had known the Joker better, perhaps she would have recognized the dark rage flash in his blue eyes momentarily and recognized the mistake she had made. But only his Harlequin would have notice something like that. The woman smiled and spoke at some length about who she was why she was there. He didn’t listen. He clenched his jaw and took deep, heavy breaths as he watched her, disgusted with himself for having been so hopeful, so excited by the mere suggestion of Harley’s presence. He took his hands off of the glance and flexed them; he suddenly couldn’t keep them still, they needed something to do. He half listened to the woman as she asked if he was okay (she didn’t ask like Harley did) and the tugging in his chest came back.

“Doctor,” he said more loudly than was necessary to once again drown out any thoughts he had. “Do me a favor and get me outta these chains?” he growled at her. He didn’t ask nicely the way he would have asked Harley, but the idiot imposter still smiled and nodded. She made him promise though, as she walked to the cell entrance, that he wouldn’t hurt her and he would do his best to calm down.

The poor girl didn’t know what he was going to do, but he had decided the second he saw that those blue eyes weren’t his Harley’s. Someone needed to be punished after all, for making him feel this way and making him get his hopes up like that. He wouldn’t hurt the real Harley of course, but this one would do just fine. The poor girl was probably so eager to prove herself to the higher-ups; she probably felt special when they had called her in and asked her to do this favor; they’d probably told her to be kind and gentle with him, the way the other lady doctor had been to him.

She swiped her identification card and entered without any fear, still smiling. He smiled back. She took out her key and unlocked his ankles from their shackles. He thanked her, she said it was no problem. He walked back toward his cot and sat down, patting the area neck to him for her to sit down with him. She happily obliged.

She probably was proud of herself for having managed to calm the infamous man down. As he reached his arms around her shoulders she probably that it was a good sign, that he felt comfortable with her. The panic didn’t come until his cold pale hands found their way around her neck, and he turned her head so that she was facing directly. Her smile had faded but his had broken into a full on grin.

He made sure to look her directly in the eyes and popped his lips to imitate the sound her broken neck bones made as he snapped it.

As he looked at the now limp corpse in front of him, he studied her, noting all the ways she was different from Doctor Quinzel. Up close there didn’t seem to be as many differences there had been when he had first seen it; up close she reminded him too much of his Harlequin. And he had killed her. Suddenly furious at the lack of satisfaction the act had given him, he tossed the woman away like a child does a rag doll when they’ve finished playing with them, and leaned back on his cot, keeping his eyes on the ceiling.

And then he started laughing.


	10. Chapter 10

“Do you wanna know who I used to be?” he asked plainly.

Harleen’s body tensed at his question, unsure of how to respond. The gravity of what he had just said- what he was offering to her- was not at all lost on her, though it seemed to be of no real consequence to him. With Joker still sat contentedly on her lap, her hands nervously stopped playing with his hair and tried to get her heartbeat back at a reasonable pace. She wondered if he could hear it, her heartbeat, it must have been so loud, and he was leaning gently on her chest. Even if he couldn’t hear it though, he must have been able to sense how nervous she was. But he seemed unbothered by the situation, his tone casual and his face as relaxed (though that may very well have been the unknown amount of sedatives that had been unceremoniously pumped into his veins), as if he had asked her whether she wanted to go out to eat or stay in.

“Harley?” he called her back to reality and she wondered how long they had sat there in silence. Her eyes snapped down to look at him as she considered how to answer, a little relieved that his eyes were shut so that he couldn’t see her and how uncomfortable she was in that moment. Of course she wanted to know who he was- she was sure everyone in Arkham, hell everyone in Gotham wanted to know; people would applaud Harleen, the young plucky psychiatrist who managed to get the infamous clown’s real name; psychiatrists all over would thank her for the invaluable information which would no doubt provide a stronger understanding of his and every other sociopath’s psyche. She could write her tell all book, all after only a few months at Arkham Asylum.

But none of that mattered to her now. It hadn’t mattered to her for some time now, she realized. His sudden willingness to open up to her meant so much more to her in that moment than any professional accolades or talk show interviews she could have dreamed of. Any fears she’d had of his trusting her, of his liking her and his ability to care for her, faded quickly. There’s something there, she thought; he feels it to, or he’d never trust me with something as sensitive as this.

“Yes,” she said just above a whisper, but he was so close to her she knew that he had heard. When he didn’t begin speaking right away her heart skipped a bit, worried he might have fallen asleep or changed his mind; anxiously, she brought her hands back to his hair. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she said quickly. She felt guilty now, selfish. Your forcing him to talk about things he doesn’t want to is what got you two here in the first place, she thought bitterly. His asking was more than enough for her, no matter how curious she was, she tried to convince herself.

“That’s alright, Harley. I want you to know.”

“Why?” she asked before she got a chance to stop herself, but his answer made her greedy. Now his asking wasn’t enough to let her know that he cared, no, now she needed to hear him say the words. “Why do you want me to know?” her she looked back down at him to try and to watch his face for a reaction. His eyes had flown open, but they didn’t look at Harleen. Instead, he kept them straight up towards the ceiling; unblinking, his blue eyes darkened, the way she had seen them darken so many times before, but this time with an emotion she could not understand, or even recognized; she was sure he couldn’t either. Neither of them said anything for a few moments, and the cell was completely silent save for his now heavy breathing. She watched as he clenched and unclenched his jaw, not wanting to upset him when they’d been so close to a breakthrough but still eager for words she wasn’t sure he was capable of saying. And maybe in the end she didn’t expect him to.

“I can’t remember.” He finally said. He had ignored her question completely but that was alright; she hadn’t really expect him to answer anyway. He was trying his best to look unaffected, but she could tell he wasn’t.

“Huh?” she answered back. Was he messing with her? Was it a joke? Had she waited too long to answer him the first time?

“I can’t. Remember.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Who I used to be. I can’t remember.”

“You mean you don’t like to think about it? That’s alright Mr. Joker, I said you don’t have to-“

“No.” he raised his voice. “I _can’t_ remember it. Most of it anyway. I can’t remember.” He paused and his expression softened, his jaw unclenched itself and his breathing quieted. His eyes lowered a little so that they weren’t looking straight at the ceiling, but he still didn’t look at Harleen.

“Wh-what _do_ you remember?” she asked cautiously. She was more confused than curious now, but still eager for information; she had expected to hear a name, hints or clues as to what kind of man he’d been. Had he been crazy before his chemical transformation? And if he wasn’t, perhaps there was at least some kind of explanation on how a normal sane man had found himself in the Ace Chemical Plant in the first place. She didn’t actually know what she was expecting, to be fair; but the mystery behind his origins and his reluctance to comment it had given Harleen and all of Gotham the idea that there was some sort of great or tragic story at the center of it all. To hear he couldn’t remember was a little anticlimactic, if she was being honest with herself.

“I can remember being there, but I can’t remember actually going or why. That’s the thing Harley, I can remember the whats. Or most of them at least. But not the why, those tricky little whys always slip away. It can get terribly frustrating. Sometimes I think I’m remembering other things, flashes. But I can’t tell if any of those are real or not. Sometimes it’s easier to just not remember.” He paused again, giving them both a little time to think. Harley realized that this was probably the closest to therapy they’d ever gotten, despite the months of treatment. It would have been a little amusing, if the moment wasn’t so serious. “I can remember taking that little tumble though. I can remember falling down, down…” he deepened his voice for comic effect on the last two words, but the moment was too tense for humor, even as a clown must have felt that.

“But you can’t remember why?” she guessed.

“Oh no Harley, that’s one why I _can_ remember.” He broke out into a full grin now, surprising her though perhaps it shouldn’t have. “I have Batman to thank for that. You know, I keep forgetting to send him a card…” he laughed lightly to himself, but anger filled Harleen quickly.

“Batman?!” she spoke through her teeth. It always came down to the Bat didn’t it? Always picking on him, ruining all his fun. “He pushed ya didn’t he?” It’s all his fault, she thought bitterly, as she tried to stop herself from wondering what his life- what their life- could have been if it weren’t for that delusional man in a cape.

“That I don’t know, Harl. What I do know is he was there. We must have been playing a game, and I just was no good at it yet. I like to think things worked out for the best though. I like to think I’m much handsomer this way.” He looked at her now to crack another smile but Harleen couldn’t bring herself to match it.

“I’m sorry,” she said as she brought her hand down to touch his face gently. He wouldn’t say that it hurt him-maybe because he didn’t know that it still did. But she supposed that’s what she was there for. “That must have been awful for you. If I could I would-I don’t know- stop him,” she mumbled. She meant well, of course; if she could she would stop him from ever becoming the clown prince of crime. But she couldn’t of course, no. All she could do now was try and help him, make sure the Batman could never hurt him again.

“You’re sweet. Really, Harley dear, you are so good.”

At some point or another Harleen had checked her watch and realized she’d been there for a few hours. None of the staff had come to look for her though, which she would have been a least a little offended by if she’d really thought about it; orderlies see her run into the cell of a man who snapped a woman’s neck not that long ago and no one comes to see if she’s okay despite being down there for hours. But never mind that, it wasn’t important. Even if no one had come to look for her, she still thought it would be best to leave; she wouldn’t want to give people the wrong idea but what was going on in here. She apologized to him for having to leave, once she was able to tear herself away. She gently moved him from her lap, trying to place him in a position that looked the most comfortable to her. Once she was satisfied with that she quietly made her way to the door to slip out. He’d been so quiet the last few minutes she was sure the sedatives must have finally won out until he called out to her just as she’d placed her hand on the door.

“So long, Doctor.”

“Not ‘so long,’” she corrected him. “We’ll resume your therapy tomorrow, Mr. Joker.”

“J,” he mumbled.

“Huh?”

“Call me J.”

“Oh, okay.” Now they both had nicknames for each other, she thought proudly; cute little pet names, like a normal couple. “I’ll be back tomorrow. I promise, Mr. J.”

And they both knew that she would be.

She half considered staying the night in her office, just in case he needed to see her or she wanted to see him, but ultimately, she decided to head back to her apartment, if only to give the impression to the other doctors and Dr. Arkham that she was sane and capable of maintaining normal doctor/patient boundaries. As she drove home, she took a few moments to reflect on the day and what she’d learned. Perhaps what she’d needed to hear that he’d always been crazy. That there would have never been any hope for the two of them to have a normal life; she needed to hear that he was insane, a maniac and that it was no one’s fault but his own; that everything he’d ever done, everyone he’d ever hurt… that it was his choice. Maybe, just maybe, that might have snapped her out of it.

But instead all she could do was imagine what had happened that night at Ace Chemical; she pictured him normal and perfect; she pictured him dark haired and blue eyed and handsome with his whole life ahead of him. She pictured him afraid and scared and none of it was his fault, the poor thing. No wonder he’s so obsessed with Batman, she thought angrily; he’s the one who started it. To stop herself from getting too angry, she poured herself a large glass of wine and tried to remove herself from the situation by thinking about the situation from a psychiatric point of view, the way she was trained to. The Bat was the only thing he could remember- the last thing he can remember from who he was before, the last _real_ thing at least. He’s clinging to that memory, because it’s the only thing he can be sure of. He’s not crazy, he’s misunderstood, she thought. He’s not insane, he’s just reacting to trauma.

And she thought she could fix him; she loved him, after all. Wouldn’t that be enough?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback appreciated!!


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